U  Nl 


RECORDS  OF  WILLIAM  M.  HUNT. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


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RECORDS 

OF 

WILLIAM  M.  HUNT 

BY 

HENRY  C.  ANGELL. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 
1881. 


Copyright,  1880, 
By  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Rand,  Avery,  &* 
Boston. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS . 


[Heliotyped  from  Mr.  Hunt's  originals.] 

Portrait    of   Mr.    Hunt   (his  last 

painting)   Facing  title-page 

Anahita   Facing  page  vii 

The  Discoverer   Facing  page  viii 

Sketch  in  Charcoal,  No.  1  .  .  .  .  Facing  page  7 
Sketch  in  Charcoal,  No.  2  .  .  .  .  Facing  page  9 
Sketch  in  Charcoal,  No.  4  ....  Facing  page  11 
Fac-simile  of  Handwriting  .  .  •  .  .  Facing  page  23 
The  Original  Sketch  for  the  Pic- 
ture called  "  Spring  Chickens,"  Facing  page  55 
"  Spring  Chickens"  as  it  was  after- 
wards painted  in  Oil   Facing  page  57 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  subject  of  these  records,  Mr.  William 
M.  Hunt,  was  the  first  American  artist  of  his 
time,  and  in  some  important  respects  the 
most  distinguished  that  our  country  has  pro- 
duced. His  versatility  was  especially  re- 
markable, and  in  largeness  of  style  and  vigor 
he  has  had  no  equal  among  his  countrymen. 

Though  confining  himself  to  no  special 
branch  of  his  profession,  his  life  was  devoted 
mainly  to  portrait  painting.  Some  of  his 
best-known  works  of  this  kind  are  the  por- 
traits of  Chief  Justice  Shaw,  Gov.  Andrew, 
Gen.  Dix,  Mr.  Evarts,  Mr.  Sumner,  and  Mrs. 
Charles  Francis  Adams. 

Other  well-known  paintings  are  those  of 
the  Prodigal  Son,  Fortune  Teller,  Margue- 
rite, Hurdy-gurdy  Boy ;  and  of  later  years, 

vii 


viii 


Introduction. 


The  Bugle  Call,  The  Drummer  Boy,  Boy 
with  the  Violin,  and  The  Bathers. 

During  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  became 
greatly  interested  in  landscape  painting,  find- 
ing it  a  congenial  relaxation  from  the  severe 
discipline  of  his  winter  occupation.  Some 
of  his  finest  landscapes  are  varied  scenes  on 
Charles  River,  the  picture  called  Spring 
Chickens,  and  others  done  at  Easton, 
Gloucester  Harbor,  and  several  large  views 
of  Niagara  Falls  and  the  Rapids. 

But  the  crowning  achievement  of  Mr. 
Hunt's  life  is  his  great  work  at  Albany. 

In  the  year  1878  he  accepted  an  invitation 
to  paint  two  large  pictures  in  oil  upon  the 
walls  of  the  Assembly  Chamber  in  the  new 
State  House  at  Albany,  N.Y.  This  magni- 
ficent room,  one  hundred  and  forty  feet  in 
length  by  eighty-four  in  width,  is  elaborately 
decorated  in  red,  blue,  and  gold,  and  recalls 
in  style  and  gorgeous  effects  the  interior  of 
the  Alhambra  at  Granada.  The  chamber  at 
this  time  was  not  entirely  finished ;  and  it  was 
understood  that  this  brilliant  coloring  of  the 


Introduction. 


ix 


walls  and  ceiling  was  to  be  supplemented  by 
furnishings  of  gold  draperies,  and  crimson 
carpetings  and  seats.  The  pictures  of  Mr. 
Hunt  were  to  be  painted  upon  the  gray  stone 
walls  of  the  arched  spaces  formed  by  the 
vaulted  ceiling,  forty  feet  from  the  floor. 
These  large  spaces  were  lighted,  and  appar- 
ently somewhat  insufficiently,  by  rows  of 
windows  beneath  them. 

The  above-named  conditions  required  of 
tiie  artist,  therefore,  compositions  colossal  in 
size,  painted  upon  the  highest  possible  key, 
and  adequately  brilliant  in  color  for  their 
surroundings.  It  cannot  be  surprising  that 
Mr.  Hunt  accepted  the  commission  for  this 
work  with  great  hesitation,  but  how  bravely 
he  succeeded  in  his  difficult  task  is  now  well 
known. 

The  composition  for  the  north  arch,  a  helio- 
type  reproduction  of  which  is  given  on  next 
page,  represents  Anahita,  or  the  Goddess  of 
Night,  seated  in  her  cloud  chariot,  floating 
down  the  western  sky ;  behind  her  are  a 
sleeping  mother  and  child ;  before,  three  res- 


X 


Introduction. 


tive  horses,  supposed  to  be  attached  to  the 
chariot,  and  to  be  controlled  in  their  mad  ca- 
reer by  the  dark  guide  at  their  head.  These 
horses  are  wonderfully  vigorous  examples  of 
modelling ;  and  the  picture  as  a  whole  is 
masterly  in  color,  and  singularly  brilliant  in 
effect. 

The  painting  on  the  south  wall  gives  us  a 
dignified  central  figure,  the  Discoverer,  stand- 
ing, with  folded  arms,  in  a  boat  that  rises 
grandly  upon  the  waves  in  mid-ocean.  He 
looks  earnestly  westward  for  the  new  land. 
Hope,  at  the  prow,  extends  her  hand  in  the 
same  direction,  Faith  hides  her  head,  Science 
spreads  her  chart,  and  Fortune  commands 
the  helm  and  trims  the  sail. 

This  painting  is  not  so  rich  in  color  as  the 
other ;  but,  in  composition,  offers  an  excel- 
lent contrast  to  it.  This  is  broad,  noble,  and 
reposeful ;  the  other,  brilliant,  fiery,  and  rest- 
less. 


Mr.  Hunt  was  born  in  Brattleborough,  Vt., 
in  the  year  1824.    When  he  was  eight  years 


Introduction, 


xi 


of  age  his  family  removed  to  New  Haven, 
Conn.,  where  he  received  his  first  lessons  in 
drawing,  a  few  years  later. 

Entering  Harvard  College  in  1840,  he  there 
distinguished  himself  less  as  a  student  of 
books  than  by  his  drawing,  carving,  his 
music,  and  his  various  humorous  accomplish- 
ments. He  left  the  college  in  his  senior  year 
for  a  tour  in  Europe.  After  a  winter  in 
Italy  he  repaired  to  Diisseldorf,  Germany,  to 
begin  the  serious  study  of  art.  At  this  time 
he  proposed  to  become  a  sculptor.  After 
two  years'  study  he  went  to  Paris,  and,  be- 
coming interested  in  the  paintings  of  Thomas 
Couture,  finally  put  himself  under  the  teach- 
ing of  this  artist,  and  determined  to  become 
a  painter.  He  made  great  progress  at  this 
time,  and  certain  characteristics  of  Couture's 
teachings  were  always  observable  in  Mr. 
Hunt's  work  to  the  end  of  his  life.  After 
leaving  Paris  he  lived  at  Barbizon,  the  home 
of  Millet.  Here  he  became  not  only  the  pu- 
pil, but  the  intimate  friend  and  companion  of 
this  great  master,  whom  he  found  to  be  the 


xii 


Introduction. 


ideal  man  and  artist,  and  for  whom  he  formed 
a  love  and  admiration  that  never  lessened  in 
after  years. 

Ee turning  to  this  country  in  1855,  Mr. 
Hunt  began  painting  at  Newport,  R.I., 
where  he  remained  until  1862,  when  he  made 
Boston  his  permanent  home.  In  1868  he 
opened  an  art  school  for  ladies,  to  which  he 
devoted  a  large  part  of  his  attention  for  two 
years.  In  1872  the  great  fire  burned  his  stu- 
dio in  Summer  Street  with  the  sketches  and 
drawings  of  a  lifetime,  ■ —  an  incalculable 
loss,  —  and  several  valuable  paintings  of 
Millet  and  of  his  own. 

A  business  friend,  meeting  Mr.  Hunt  soon 
after  the  fire,  and  knowing  of  the  loss  of  his 
studio  effects,  said,  "Did  you  lose  much  by 
the  fire?" 

"Why,  yes,"  returned  the  .artist,  "I  lost 
everything  I  had  in  my  studio." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  know ;  but  I  mean  property, 
money,  you  know,  whether  you  were  in- 
sured ?  " 

Mr.  Hunt  finally  built  himself  a  large  stu- 


Introduction. 


xiii 


dio  on  the  corner  of  Boylston  Street  and 
Park  Square,  where  he  held  several  public 
exhibitions  of  his  pictures. 

He  died  September  8,  1879,  at  the  Isles  of 
Shoals,  whither  he  had  gone  in  the  vain  en- 
deavor to  restore  his  health,  which  had  be- 
come seriously  impaired  a  few  months  after 
his  return  from  Albany. 

His  last  painting  was  an  excellent  and 
characteristic  portrait  of  himself. 


BECOBDS  OF  WILLIAM  M.  HUNT. 


i. 

Some  five  years  ago,  when  Mr.  Hunt  first 
came  to  see  us,  being  shown  into  the  study 
where  several  landscapes  are  hung,  he  went 
directly  up  to  a  Corot,  and  putting  his  face 
quite  close  to  the  canvas  looked  it  over  ear- 
nestly for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then,  seating 
himself  near  it,  said  abruptly,  "  What  is  it 
makes  this  painting  so  charming?  Why  is 
it  so  poetic? " 

No  one  replying,  I  ventured  to  say  that  it 
was  difficult  to  find  a  reason ;  perhaps  it  was 
because  the  picture  was  so  Corot-ish.  This 
was  no  answer  at  all,  and  disregarding  it, 
accordingly,  he  went  on  to  say  that  it  was 

l 


2         Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

"  because  it  is  not  what  people  call  a  finished 
painting.  There  is  room  for  imagination  in 
it.  It  is  poetic.  Finish  up,  as  they  call  it, 
make  everything  out  clear  and  distinct,  and 
anybody  sees  all  there  is  in  about  a  minute. 
A  minute  is  enough  for  a  picture  of  that 
sort,  and  you  never  want  to  look  at  it  again. 
They  call  Corot's  pictures  sketchy,  and  think 
that  he  does  them  quickly  and  easily.  I 
tell  you  he  works  years  on  them,  and  works 
hard." 

He  then  went  over  to  a  little  picture  by 
Corot  hanging  on  the  opposite  wall,  to  which 
he  had  not  apparently  paid  any  attention, 
and  putting  his  thumb  on  the  middle  dis- 
tance, and  moving  it  over  the  thicket  of 
trees  in  an  artistic  way,  as  though  he  were 
following  the '  directions  of  Corot's  brush, 
said,  "  See  how  beautiful  that  is,  —  how  vague 
and  indistinct !  It's  a  great  deal  harder  to 
do  that  than  it  would  have  been  to  make  all 
those  trees  out  clearly.  Corot  knows  what 
he's  about.  He  did  not  begin  painting  in  the 
way  he  paints  now.    He  learned  from  expeT 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt,  3 

rience  that  this  is  the  way  to  paint.  He 
knows  the  worth  of  mystery  and  of  hiding 
the  appearance  of  hard  work." 

After  Corot's  death,  in  speaking  of  the 
great  labor  and  seriousness  in  his  pictures, 
Hunt  said,  "  I  went  to  see  Corot  when  I  was 
last  in  Paris.  He  is  as  simple  and  charming 
as  his  pictures^  and  seemed  to  enjoy  showing 
his  sketches  and  telling  what  he  proposed  to 
do.  Mind  you,  he  didn't  speak  of  Avhat  he 
had  done,  but  of  what  he  proposed  to  do. 
He  showed  me  three  sketches  in  which  the. 
subjects  were  merely  laid,  which  he  said  he 
purposed  to  get  ready  for  the  Exposition  of 
three  years  later.  Just  think  of  it !  He  was 
going  to  keep  these  sketches  by  him  and 
work  over  them  for  three  years  before  exhib- 
iting them.  '  Yes,'  said  the  old  man,  '  if  the 
good  God  spares  ♦my  life  for  three  years 
longer,  I  hope  to  show  some  pictures  worthy 
of  me  and  worthy  of  our  landscape  painting.' 
Think  of  it !  After  painting  for  fifty  years, 
he  wanted  three  years  more  just  to  do  certain 
things  that  he  had  been  trying  for  so  long, 


4  Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


and  had  never  been  able  to  do.  And  yet 
some  people  think  his  work  hasty  and  incom- 
plete !  "  I  remarked  that  an  artist  had  said 
to  me  that  there  were  multitudes  of  false 
Corots  in  this  country,  and  I  had  replied 
that,  while  there  were  many  imitations,  I  did 
not  believe  that  copies  were  very  common, 
and  they  were  easy  to  detect,  as  Corot  was 
one  of  the  difficult  masters  to  copy.  "  Poh  !  " 
said  the  artist,  "  if  you  will  lend  me  your  best 
Corot  I  will  make  a  copy  of  it  in  a  couple  of 
days  that  you  cannot  tell  from  the  original. 
He  is  the  easiest  of  all  the  French  school  to 
copy."  "  Tell  him,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  "  that  if 
he  kept  this  Corot  by  him  ten  years  he 
couldn't  copy  it.  I'm  not  sure  that  anybody 
could  make  a  fine  copy  of  Corot." 

On  another  occasion,  sitting  opposite  a 
Corot  at  a  distance,  he.  said,  "  As  I  see  that 
picture  now  the  tip  of  the  tree  there  seems 
too  strongly  accented ; "  then  crossing  the 
room  to  the  picture,  he  continued,  "  Yes,  the 
end  of  this  branch  as  it  melts  into  the  sky  is 
rather  strongly  accented.    It  attracts  the  eye 


Records  of  Wdliam  31.  Hunt.  5 


too  much,"  and,  turning  round  quickly,  he 
added  earnestly  and  with  a  solemnity  not  un- 
usual with  him,  "  If  Corot  were  here  now,  I 
think  he  would  agree  with  me." 

Mr.  Hunt  was  very  sparing  of  adverse 
criticism,  and  with  the  great  masters  like 
Millet,  Corot,  Delacroix,  and  others  he  was 
most  reverential,  whatever  the  nature  of  his 
criticism.  A  notable  exception  to  this  that  I 
remember  was  in  the  case  of  Charles  Jacques. 
This  distinguished  painter  he  disliked,  and 
was  disposed  to  do  scant  justice  to  his  works. 
Being  asked  how  he  liked  a  certain  Jacques 
picture,  he  replied,  "  It's  better  than  most  of 
his  pictures,  —  not  so  stuffy."  This  was  the 
highest  praise  he  felt  like  giving  it.  Of  an- 
other one  of  Jacques'  large  and  pretentious 
canvases  he  said,  "  I  don't  like  it.  He  thinks 
these  daubs  of  color  on  the  tree  trunks  make 
him  a  colorist  like  Diaz."  The  enmity  be- 
tween Millet  and  Jacques  had,  naturally, 
some  influence  in  intensifying  Mr.  Hunt's 
dislike  of  the  latter  painter's  work. 

I  asked  him,  one  evening,  if  he  nearly 


6  Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


always  made  drawings  in  charcoal  of  his 
landscapes  as  well  as  his  portraits  before 
painting.  He  said  that  he  did ;  that  it  was 
very  easily  and  quickly  done,  and  gave  one  a 
correct  idea  of  how  the  picture  would  look 
in  oil,  especially  as  regards  composition  and 
values.  "It  is  a  great  saving  of  time.*  One 
may  get  from  a  few  minutes'  work  with  a  bit 
of  charcoal  more  practical  hints  than  he  can 
get  sometimes  by  hours  of  painting,  and  he 
may  possibly  discover  also  that  he  is  attempt- 
ing something  that  he  can't  do  at  all."  I 
remarked  that  I  had  never  tried  charcoal 
drawing,  and  that  I  proposed  to  attempt  it 
during  my  summer  vacation.  "  That's  right," 
he  said.  "  I  would  do  it.  You'll  find  it  great 
fun  ;  easy,  quick,  and  not  fatiguing.  It  will 
teach  you  to  paint,  too.  You  see  you  can  get 
all  the  gradations  of  tone  from  the  blackest 
black  up  to  the  pure  white  paper." 

In  the  autumn  following  I  showed  him  a 
dozen  or  more  charcoal  drawings  from  nature. 
He  looked  them  over  rapidly,  pausing  only 
when  he  saw  something  to  praise,  passing 


Records  of  William  M.  Sunt.  7 

over  grave  faults  without  notice.  Presently 
he  said,  u  I  must  do  a  drawing  or  two  for  you 
some  evening,  just  to  let  you  see  the  way  I 
do  them."  Nothing  more  was  said  on  the 
subject  at  the  time.  After  he  left  the  house 
the  probabilities  of  his  remembering  his  prom- 
ise were  eagerly  discussed,  and  we  concluded 
that  the  chance  of  it  was  exceedingly  small ; 
and,  although  very  desirous  of  seeing  him  do 
some  of  his  famous  charcoals,  we  resolved 
that  no  hint  should  ever  be  given  him  of  the 
promise. 

On  the  second  or  third  subsequent  visit, 
however,  to  our  great  joy,  Mr.  Hunt  cried 
out,  as  he  entered  the  room,  "  Where  are  your 
charcoals  ?  I  feel  just  like  doing  some.  Ah," 
he  exclaimed,  as  we  opened  the  little  box  of 
crayons  for  him,  "  these  are  the petits  buissons  ; 
you  want  the  gros  buissons.  Keep  these; 
they'll  do  for  some  things,  but  they  are  too 
delicate ;  they  break  too  easily.  I'll  send 
you  a  box  of  the  gros  buissons."  He  then 
seated  himself,  and  taking  the  block  of  paper 
on  his  knees  began  by  dashing  on  the  paper 


8  Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 

at  one  side  near  its  margin,  in  the  boldest 
hap-hazard  style,  a  large  black  spot.  He 
bore  on  so  hard  that  the  delicate  stem  of 
charcoal  snapped  almost  at  the  start.  This 
did  not  annoy  him  in  the  least,  and  he  went 
on  without  interruption,  using  the  fragments. 
One  could  scarcely  imagine  that  this  in- 
tensely black  dot  would  ever  make  a  reputa- 
ble part  of  a  picture,  and  he  presently  said, 
"  This  looks  black  to  you,  but  I  can't  make  it 
as  black  as  I  want  to,  the  charcoals  are  so 
delicate.  I  often  get  a  black  a  good  deal 
blacker  than  this  with  the  gros  buissons." 
He  went  on  with  the  drawing,  and  in  about 
fifteen  minutes  it  was  completed.  There 
were  the  dark  willows  at  the  edge  of  the 
water  that  spread  across  and  made  the  fore- 
ground, the  shore-line  and  the  bridge  in  the 
middle  distance,  the  hills  far  away,  the  ex- 
quisitely tender  clouds  just  over  them,  and 
higher  in  the  sky  the  nearer  cloud  forms,  the 
whole  reflected  in  the  water  with  a  success 
so  disproportioned  to  the  apparent  labor  that 
it  seemed  like  magic.    In  fact,  the  whole 


Records  of  William  31.  Hunt.  9 

drawing  was  so  playfully  free  and  effortless 
as  to  suggest  a  lucky  accident ;  it  drew  itself. 
The  effect  of  this  charcoa/1,  though  different 
in  composition,  reminds  one  of  Rembrandt's 
etching  of  The  Three  Trees. 

Without  pausing,  Mr.  Hunt  went  on,  say- 
ing that  now  he  would  sketch  from  memory 
a  sea-side  view,  that  he  had  left  the  evening 
before.  This  time  he  drew  carefully  and 
with  effort,  evidently  desirous  of  getting  a 
correct  portrait  of  the  spot.  In  composition 
the  drawing  was  somewhat  like  the  other, 
but  in  place  of  the  clump  of  willows  at  the 
left  a  large  rock  jutted  out  into  the  water ; 
beyond  this  the  distant  coast-line  was  made 
up  of  rocks  and  cedar-trees.  Above  there 
was  a  clear  sky,  with  irregular  cloud-lines ; 
and  still  above  these  were  heavier,  unbroken 
clouds.  In  the  still  water  of.  the  foreground 
the  large  rock  and  the  sky  were  reflected  ; 
near  the  shore  the  breeze  ruffled  the  mirror's 
surface,  so  that  no  reflections  Wjere  visible 
there ;  but  the  smooth  water  extended  in  to- 
ward the  coast  just  far  enough  to  catch  and 


10        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

reflect  the  tops  of  the  rocks  and  trees  beyond, 
so  that  a  long,  slender  line  of  reflections 
nearly  parallel  with  the  coast  reached  across 
the  middle  distance.  This  drawing,  though 
not  academically  prim,  is  rather  precise  than 
free.  The  sky  and  its  reflection  in  the  water 
are,  however,  more  loose,  and  in  Mr.  Hunt's 
usual  fascinating  manner.  The  drawing  is 
of  the  same  size  as  the  other,  about  eight  by 
ten  inches,  yet  it  required  nearly  three  times 
as  long  to  do. 

After  a  few  moments'  rest  and  talk  about 
the  beauty  of  the  coast  scene  as  he  saw  it,  he 
began  to  draw  again  with  an  immense  furor 
and  rapidity,  clearly  due  to  the  welcome  re- 
action from  the  cramped  exactness  required 
by  the  last  subject.  In  less  than  three  min- 
utes the  picture  was  tossed  from  him,  and 
another  begun.  Near  the  centre  of  the  fore- 
ground he  had  drawn  a  clump  of  half  a 
dozen  poplars ;  beyond,  a  broad  river,  and 
then  a  perspective  of  hills  melting  away  into 
a  horizon  of  clouds ;  above,  a  clear  sky.  As 
a  finishing  touch,  the  figures  of  a  woman 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt,  11 

and  a  cow  were  put  in  at  the  left  of  the  pop- 
lars, in  five  or  six  seconds.  He  next  drew, 
with  almost  equal  rapidity,  a  very  poetic 
landscape,  of  about  half  the  size  of  the  oth- 
ers. The  water  of  the  immediate  foreground 
reflected  imperfectly  the  three  or  four  trees 
at  the  right,  and  a  line  of  extremely  delicate 
ones  extending  to  the  centre,  and  farther  to- 
wards the  left,  the  finely  modelled  figures  of 
a  woman  and  child,  and  beyond,  a  man  in  a 
boat  pushing  off  from  the  shore.  This  is 
one  of  his  poetic  little  bits,  in  his  daintiest 
and  tenclerest  manner. 

In  answer  to  the  inquiry  as  to  how  his 
style  of  doing  charcoals  differed  from  that 
of  the  French  school  of  Lalanne  and  Allonge, 
he  said  that  they,  for  instance,  first  covered 
the  paper  with  charcoal  evenly,  and  then  re- 
moved a  portion,  forming  the  lights  of  the 
clouds ;  while  he,  on  the  contrary,  supposed 
the  white  paper  to  represent  the  clear  sky, 
his  clouds  being  formed  by  the  dark  of  the 
charcoal  touches.  In  other  parts  of  the  pic- 
ture the  French  school  depends  for  the  lights 


12        Records  of  William  JSL  Hunt, 


upon  the  removal,  more  or  less  completely,  of 
the  darks.  Hence  their  drawings  are  far  less 
brilliant  in  tone  than  when  done  with  the 
charcoal  alone,  and  with  as  little  rubbing, 
softening,  or  erasing  as  possible. 

He  then  did  a  small  picture  in  the  manrier 
mentioned,  with  light,  rolling  clouds  on  a 
dark  background  of  sky,  a  darker  middle  dis- 
tance, and  a  nearly  white  foreground,  upon 
which  he  put,  with  the  fewest  possible  strokes, 
a  man  with  a  pair  of  oxen,  ploughing. 

Finally,  he  called  for  a  crumb  of  bread  and 
as  he  began  removing  with  it,  carefully,  the 
few  lines  that  had  straggled  outside  the  field 
of  his  drawing,  he  said,  "  I'm  not  a  very  neat 
man  about  my  work,  but  I  do  like  to  clean 
up  the  edges  of  my  pictures."  Then  he 
quietly  put  his  initials  to  the  first,  second, 
and  fourth  pictures,  and  the  delightful  lesson 
was  over. 

The  next  morning,  to  our  surprise,  a  box 
of  gros  buissons  was  sent  us.  It  was  some 
days  later  before  I  realized  his  object  in  mak- 
ing a  portion  of  his  first  picture  so  very  black. 


Records  of  William  31.  Hunt.  13 

It  was  partly  for  the  purpose  of  showing  me 
the  whole  gamut  of  tint  from  the  blackest- 
black  to  the  whitest  white,  so  that  many- 
values  could  be  made  available  in  one  draw- 
ing, and  partly  to  show  that  there  need  be 
no  fear  in  the  use  of  charcoal  that  one  should 
get  too  dark  a  tone,  or 'start  on  too  dark  a 
key.  Instead  of  telling  me  that  my  draw- 
ings were  too  timid  and  nearly  colorless,  he 
chose  to  do  some  that  were  as  far  removed 
as  possible  from  either  fault,  and  trust  them 
to  do  the  rest  of  the  teaching. 

Years  afterwards  I  heard  a  lady  at  his 
studio  ask  him  how  long  it  took  him  to  draw 
a  certain  rather  elaborate  charcoal  picture. 
"  Well,"  answered  the  artist,  "  I  think  it 
took  me  an  hour  or  two  ;  that  is,  I  was  about 
that  time  putting  it  on  the  paper  there  ;  but 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  that  it  took  me  forty 
years,  as  I've  been  drawing  about  that  length 
of  time." 

January,  1875.  There  was  in  his  studio 
at  this  time,  a  striking  picture  of  a  small 
boy  fencing,  that  recalled  at  once  the  picture 


14        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

of  The  Actor,  by  Velasquez,  at  Madrid.  A 
remark  to  this  effect  being  made  the  artist 
said,  "  Yes,  yes ;  I  don't  know  that  I  was 
thinking  of  Velasquez  when  it  was  painted, 
but  possibly  if  Velasquez  had  never  painted 
his  picture  this  might  not  have  been  done." 
He  seemed  to  take  almost  as  much  interest 
in  a  large  portfolio  of  charcoal  drawings  as 
in  his  more  important  works,  'and  was  con- 
stantly taking  up  the  drawings  that  he  liked 
best,  and  putting  them  in  advantageous  posi- 
tions. 

We  were  invited  several  times  to  his  stu- 
dio during  this  month,  never  presuming  to 
visit  him  without  special  invitation,  at  this 
time  or  in  later  years.  On  these  occasions 
he  seemed  very  merry  and  light  hearted,  and 
would  now  and  then  take  up  his  banjo  or 
guitar  and  play  a  little,  sing  a  French  song, 
always  joke  a  great  deal,  and  tell  stories. 

February  12th.  Mr.  Hunt  came  in  and 
looked  at  a  small  picture  by  Millet,  of  a 
woman  bathing.  It  is  one  of  his  early  pic- 
tures.   He  took  it  up  and  said,  "  I  remember 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  15 

that  picture.  I  saw  it  in  one  of  the  collec- 
tions in  Paris,  many  years  ago.  It's  fine." 
To  the  remark  that  it  was  as  good  as  the  old 
masters,  he  replied,  "  It's  as  good  as  the  best 
of  the  old  masters,  —  as  good  as  Correggio." 
This  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
We  then  went  out  to  one  of  Perabo's  piano 
recitals  at  Wesleyan  Hall.  On  the  way 
there  Mr.  Hunt  said,  "  Don't  let  us  sit  where 
we  can't  get  out  easily.  Sometimes,  you 
know,  a  fellow  wants  to  get  away  pretty 
early,  not  because  the  music  isn't  good,  but 
because  one  gets  enough.  If  one  piece  fills 
you  full,  what's  the  use  of  spoiling  your  di- 
gestion by  trying  to  take  in  more  ?  When  I 
get  full  I  want  to  be  able  to  leave  quietly." 
So  we  got  a  seat  far  back,  but  he  remained 
through  the  entire  programme. 

"It  seems  strange  to  sit  here,"  he  said, 
"and  take  in  all  this  with  my  ears  alone. 
I'm  in  the  habit  of  taking  in  things  with  my 
eyes.  It  makes  one  want  to  shut  his  eyes  to 
hear  good  music,  so  that  he  can  concentrate 
his  perceptions  in  his  ears.    I  should  think 


16        Records  of  William  JSL  Hunt. 


persons  hearing  music  constantly  might  be- 
come blind."  Mr.  Hunt  was  very  musical : 
he  had  in  his  room,  at  one  time,  a  piano,  two 
violins,  a  banjo,  and  a  guitar.  Having  an 
excellent  ear  for  music  he  appreciated  the 
best  thoroughly ;  but  as  in  painting,  though 
conscious  of  any  defect,  he  was  always  eager 
to  pardon  minor  faults,  when  an  artist  had 
"  something  to  say  and  said'  it."  I  remember 
once  hearing  him  speak  very  warmly  of  a 
public  singer,  praising  almost  without  stint 
her  noble  voice,  her  sincerity  and  breadth 
of  style ;  adding  at  the  end,  u  She's  a  great 
singer,  even  if  she  does  get  a  little  off  the 
key  sometimes." " 

On  the  way  home  from  the  concert  he  was 
very  gay  over  what  he  heard  a  man  say  by 
way  of  criticism,  namely,  that  "Perabo  was 
quite  himself  to-day."  Mr.  Hunt  kept  re- 
peating the  phrase  enjoyingly,  and  asked, 
"What  did  he  mean  by  that,  —  something 
good,  or  bad  ?  Do  you  suppose  he  knows  one 
tune  from  another  ?  "  "  No."  "  Then  what 
does  he  go  to  concerts  for ? "    "Because  he 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  17 


has  a  ticket  given  him."  "  And  makes  it  out 
to  be  a  very  remarkable  occasion  because  the 
player  was  4  quite  himself.'  I  wish  he  would 
criticise  pictures." 

He  drank  tea  with  us,  and  remained  until 
quite  late  in  the  evening.  The  conversation 
turned  towards  the  drudgery  of  portrait 
painting  and  the  peculiarity  of  sitters.  He 

was  then  painting  Mr.  ,  an  elderly  man. 

'  "  He  shakes  hands  every  morning  when  he 
comes.  Do  you  want  to  know  how  he  does 
it?"  He  then  took  my  hand,  and  holding 
it  quite  still  squeezed  it  very  hard.  "  What 
does  that  mean  ?  "  I  asked.  "  It  means  that 
he  isn't  dead, — that's  all.  He's  old  and  re- 
tired from  business,  and  he's  afraid  people 
will  think  he's  dead ;  so  when  he  gets  hold 
of  a  hand  he  just  lets  the  owner  of  it  know 
that  he's  very  much  alive  still."  Of  General 
Dix  he  observed  that  he  was  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman in  manners,  —  one  of  the  old  school; 
always  deferential,  continually  mindful  of 
the  painter's  comfort,  never  letting  engage- 
ments interfere  with  sittings,  punctual  to 
come,  and  ready  to  remain. 


18        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

Of  another  distinguished  statesman  he 
said,  "  He  is  a  man  who  impresses  you  as 
very  strong  intellectually,  a  gentleman  pol- 
ished and  refined ;  but  he's  a  little  pompous, 
and  has  the  air  of  being  afraid  you  won't  feel 
his  greatness  unless  he  reminds  you  of  it  by 
his  manner.  He  always  fixed  the  time  of  his 
sittings  himself.  This  annoyed  me,  but  as  I 
was  his  guest  I  let  things  go  on  in  this  way 
for  a  while ;  afterwards  I  had  something  to 
say  about  my  own  time  for  working,  and  we 
finally  got  on  very  well  together." 

Mr.  Hunt  was  very  intolerant  of  preten- 
sion,—  as  might  be  supposed  from  his  char- 
acter and  writings ;  never  assuming,  himself, 
never  pretentious,  never  dictatorial,  he  was 
extremely  sensitive  to  these  traits  in  others. 
He  could  neither  overlook  nor  pardon  them 
for  a  moment  in  people  of  position.  Many, 
knowing  him  as  a  "hail  fellow  well  met," 
full  of  jokes  and  stories,  are  not  aware  that 
under  this  democratic  exterior  lay  the  dor- 
mant but  ever-present  consciousness  of  supe- 
riority.   He  felt  that  he  was  deservedly  the 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  19 

peer  of  any  American,  of  whatever  position 
or  reputation.  He  believed  that  lie  had  done 
things  that  would  live,  and  he  did  not  choose 
to  permit  anybody  to  treat  him  as  an  inferior. 
Indeed,  he  would  not  permit  himself  to  be 
treated  with  much  familiarity  by  any  one, 
however  distinguished,  unless  he  were  an 
intimate  friend.  He  would  sometimes  pull  a 
letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  say,  "  This  is  all 
very  well,  but  I  don't  quite  like  the  familiar 
tone." 

One  evening,  just  after  an  exhibition  of 
pictures  at  his  studio,  he  came  in  quite  tired 
and  sensitive  and  said  that  Mr.   (men- 
tioning the  name  of  a  man  of  wealth  and 
prominence)  came  into  the  studio  and  swag- 
gered about  with  his  hat  on.  "  I  tell  you,  I 
came  within  an  ace  of  just  going  up  and 
smashing  his  hat  down  on  to  his  chin ;  but  if 
I  had  I  shouldn't  have  stopped  at  that;  I 
should  have  kicked  him  out  of  the  room,  too. 
It  wouldn't  have  been  more  than  he  de- 
served. What  business  had  he,  a  man  I 
never  spoke  to  more  than  twice  in  my  life, 


20        Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 

to  swell  round  in  my  studio  with  his  hat  on ! 
You  may  wear  your  hat  there  as  much  as  you 
please,  and  so  may  any  of  my  friends.  You 
know  I  often  insist  on  their  remaining  cov- 
ered. I  care  nothing  about  it  if  a  man  is  a 
gentleman.     But  old    is  not  a  gentle- 

man, and  if  he  ever  does  that  thing  again  I'll 
send  my  boy  to  him  and  tell  him  to  take  off 
his  hat." 

Of  Mr.  ,  once  a  sitter,  he  said,  "  I 

wanted  to  paint  him  very  much,  not  merely 
because  he  is  famous,  but  because  he  has  a 
striking  face,  and  I  thought  I  could  do  it 
justice.  So  I  took  great  interest  in  the  por- 
trait, and  gave  myself  the  trouble  of  prepar- 
ing several  canvases  and  making  a  number 
of  preliminary  sketches.  When  he  came  to 
me,  although  very  polite,  he  had  on  his  air 
of  condescension,  and  intimated  that  he  was 
doing  a  thing  of  no  account  just  to  please 
his  friends.  After  sitting  for  about  an  hour, 
he  took  out  his  watch,  and  said  he  had  an 
engagement.  I  didn't  set  any  time  for  the 
next  sitting,  and  when,  some  weeks  after, 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  21 

his  friends  came  in  to  see  when  he  should 
come  again,  I  told  them  I  would  let  them 
know  when  I  was  ready.  I  will  let  'em 
know  when  I'm  ready,  but  it  will  be  when 
we  are  both  a  good  deal  older  than  we  are 
now.  If  he  doesn't  want  his  portrait  paint- 
ed, and  doesn't  want  it  painted  by  me,  I 
don't  propose  to  paint  it.  I  did  want  to 
paint  it,  and  looked  forward  to  doing  it  with 
the  greatest  interest." 

Of  a  portrait  of  R.,  a  prominent  man,  I 
said  to  him,  "It  is  good,  a  faultless  likeness 
and  fine  in  color,  but  I  don't  think  it  one 
of  your  best.  You  haven't  made  any  more 
of  him  than  he  is.  Just  look  at  the  por- 
trait of  X. !  It  is  perfect  as  a  likeness,  and 
yet  he  has  the  air  of  a  Roman  emperor." 
"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  "a  fellow  could 
make  a  Roman  emperor  of  X.,  because  he 
is  an  emperor  in  his  way,  but  R.  is  just  as 
big  as  he  looks,  and  no  bigger.  I  could  get 
nothing  big  out  of  him.  He  impressed  me 
as  a  big  talker,  and  that's  all." 

The  following  anecdote  was  given  me  by 


22        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

an  artist  friend  of  Mr.  Hunt,  and  is,  I  tliink, 
substantially  correct.  He  had  painted  for 
one  of  his  patrons  a  figure  in  a  blue  dress, 
and  later,  while  engaged  in  painting  another 
portrait  in  a  dress  of  the  same  color,  he  was 
asked  by  the  owner  of  the  former  picture 
not  to  duplicate  the  blue  dress.  The  only 
reply  the  artist  made  was  to  ask  if  he  had  a 
patent  on  this  particular  color,  and  he  went 
on  painting  the  dress  as  he  had  begun. 

On  another  occasion  the  following  docu- 
ment was  sent  for  his  signature  :  "  Received 

of  Mr.  fifty  dollars  for  finishing  up  a 

portrait."  Mr.  Hunt  refused  his  signature, 
but  instead  wrote  as  follows :  "  Received  of 

Mr.  fifty  dollars  for  working  a  week  on 

a  picture  after  it  was  finished.     W.  M.  Hunt." 

May  13,  1875.  Mr.  Hunt  invited  a  few 
friends  to  his  studio  to  meet  William  War- 
ren and  Joseph  Jefferson.  The  affair  was 
very  enjoyable,  and  passed  off  to  his  entire 
satisfaction.  In  speaking  of  it  later  he  said, 
"  I  hardly  dared  to  invite  Warren  and  Jef- 
ferson ;  still  I  thought  they  could  refuse,  or 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  23 

say  they  were  engaged,  if  they  didn't  want 
to  come.  But  they  said  they  would  come  in 
for  a  little  while.  As  they  stayed1  three 
hours  or  more,  I  think  they  must  have  had 
a  pretty  good  time."  One  of  the  other 
guests  present  was  a  man  of  great  dignity 
and  social  position,  and  I  remember  that 
Mr.  Hunt  said  to  him,  "  I  was  rather  afraid 
to  ask  you  here,  you've  got  to  be  such  a 
great  man;  I  thought  probably  you'd  feel 
too  big  to  come,  but  I'm  glad "  —  And 
here  Mr.  Hunt  rushed  up  and  threw  his 
arms  round  him  and  gave  him  a  hearty  hug. 
I  was  astonished  at  his  temerity,  but  no 
harm  came  of  it. 

"How  nice  Mr.  Warren  looked,  didn't 
he?"  said  Mr.  Hunt.  "I've  always  said 
that  he's  the  only  man  I  ever  saw  that 
makes  me  want  to  wear  a  wig." 

June  9th.  He  came  to  us  early,  and  stayed 
very  late.  The  portrait  called  The  Old  Pro- 
fessor, of  Duveneck,  interested  him  exceed- 
ingly. He  took  it  in  his  lap  and  fondled  it 
for  a  half  hour  or  more,  even  while  talking 


24        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

of  other  matters.  A  few  evenings  later  he 
begged  us  to  lend  it  to  him  for  a  short  time : 
he  wished  to  see  how  it  looked  in  his  studio : 
and  so  he  carried  it  off  under  his  arm,  frame 
and  all,  refusing  to  have  it  sent  round  to  him 
in  the  morning.  He  also  showed  us  a  very 
friendly  letter  from  Duveneck,  in  response  to 
an  invitation  from  him  to  remain  and  paint 
in  Boston.  So  far  from  feeling  jealous  of 
Duveneck's  talent,  as  had  been  alleged,  he 
would  gladly  have  had  him  live  in  Boston, 
and  would  have  done  all  he  could  to  help 
him  to  get  orders.  Later  in  the  year,  when 
Duveneck  was  in  Boston,  Mr.  Hunt  ex- 
pressed great  regret  at  not  meeting  him. 

This  evening  he  was  a  little  disposed  to 
scold  the  picture  dealers,  and  expose  some 
of  their  expedients  to  prevent  the  public 
from  meeting  the  artists  face  to  face. 

He  told  the  story  of  a  little  child  who  said, 
one  day,  when  the  servants  were  noisy,  that 
ushe  felt  as  if  the  wolves  were  smoothing 
their  voices  on  her  back."  Of  an  old  woman, 
the  same  little  girl  said  that  she  was  as  slow 
"  as  two  big  rocks  in  a  pretty  high  wind." 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  25 

During  August  of  this  year  Mr.  Hunt  was 
very  busy  in  the  construction  of  what  he 
called  his  van,  —  a  large  covered  sketching 
wagon,  commodious  enough  to  live  in  while 
on  a  sketching  tour ;  built,  as  he  said  with 
great  glee,  "  by  a  man  who  builds  gypsy  wag- 
ons." It  had  all  kinds  of  drawers  in  it  for 
pots,  kettles,  and  painting  utensils,  and  was  to 
be  drawn  about  to  eligible  sketching  grounds 
by  a  span  of  horses ;  the  man  who  sold  him 
the  harnesses  sold  him,  at  the  same  time,  a 
powder  to  cure  galled  spots  in  horses,  that 
was  also  a  good  tooth  powder.  The  same 
man  had,  further,  a  contrivance  for  pulling 
up  runaway  horses  that  lifted  them  right  off 
their  feet,  and  a  pail  for  feeding,  with  a  crane 
under  it ! 

The  painter  laughed  heartily  over  the  story 
he  had  just  heard  of  two  ladies,  who,  stop- 
ping iii  a  country  drive  to  water  their  horse 
at  a  brook,  unbuckled  the  crupper,  so  that 
the  horse  should  reach  the  water. 

He  said  that  the  van  was  so  easy  that  driv- 
ing in  it  was  like  being  up  in  a  balloon,  and 


26        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


gave  the  pleasantest  possible  proof  of  his 
assertion,  one  afternoon  later,  by  driving  us 
twenty-five  miles  in  it.  The  drive  was 
delightful,  and  the  van  extremely  comforta- 
ble, but  it  left  a  consciousness  for  a  day  or 
two  that  an  experimental  drive  of  twenty- 
five  miles,  even  in  a  van,  is  rather  long. 

It  is  doubtful  if  he  found  the  new  car- 
riage as  pleasurable  or  at  least  as  serviceable 
for  professional  tours  as  he  anticipated.  Per- 
haps this  would  have  been  impossible,  but  as 
it  was  not  spoken  of  much  after  a  few  weeks, 
we  inferred  that  it  was  found  to  be  a  more 
cumbersome  vehicle  than  he  liked. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  very  fond  of  horses,  often 
driving  a  pair,  and  keeping  four  or  five, 
besides  a  saddle-horse  or  two.  He  liked  fine 
roadsters  rather  than  fast  trotters,  and  never 
raced,  though  generally  driving  fast  and 
pretty  far.  Making  pets  of  his  horses,  and 
frequently  descanting  on  their  individuality, 
he  was,  nevertheless,  like  other  horse  fanciers, 
disposed  to  buy  and  sell  often.  If  a  horse 
pleased  him,  the  desire  of  possession  was 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  27 

nearly  irresistible,  and  the  purchase  of  one 
necessitated  the  disposal  of  others. 

Having,  at  one  time,  some  trouble  with 
horse-shoers,  we  inquired  of  him  whom  he 
employed  for  his  horses.  "  Oh,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  don't  ask  !  I  don't  know.  I  don't 
want  to  hate  anybody  in  particular.  If  I 
knew,  I  should  hate  a  man ;  now  I  only  hate 
a  race." 

Horses  were  to  be  depended  on  until  they 
ran  away  once,  Mr.  Hunt  said ;  "  and  then 
they  were  like  the  man  who  jumped  up  and 
down  in  his  back  yard,  with  his  mouth  wide 
open,  while  his  house  was  burning,  thinking 
he  was  crying  fire." 


28 


Records  of  William  M.  Sunt. 


n. 

« 

During  the  long  evenings  of  early  winter 
he  was  very  cheerful  and  happy,  full  of  fun 
and  stories.  One  evening  he  told  us  of  his 
big,  balky  horse  that  he  had  tried  to  cure  by 
electricity.  I  wish  that  I  dared  attempt  his 
description  of  the  astonishment  of  the  horse, 
and  his  sudden  increase  in  size,  when  the  cur- 
rent of  electricity  first  struck  him ;  the  rem- 
edy did  not  prove  a  curative. 

He  told  us  a  story  of  a  monkey  in  Diissel- 
dorf.  The  monkey  was  a  very  intelligent 
one,  and  greatly  petted  by  his  master,  a  pro- 
fessor in  the  art  school.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  giving  the  monkey  daily  some  lumps  of 
sugar  in  a  small  covered  box.  The  little  fel- 
low was  fond  of  opening  and  closing  the  box, 
and  of  helping  himself  to  the  sugar.  As  a 
matter  of  sport,  the  professor  substituted  for 
the  sugar-box,  one  day,  a  box  of  exactly  the 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  29 

same  size  and  appearance,  but  which  con- 
tained, instead  of  sugar,  a  horrid  image  that 
sprang  out  the  moment  the  cover  was  raised. 
The  unsuspecting  monkey  opening  the  box 
as  usual  for  his  sugar,  the  jack  jumped  out, 
and,  dropping  it,  he  rushed  to  the  farthest 
corner  of  his  cage,  and  there  remained  trem- 
bling all  day ;  no  coaxing  could  get  him  near 
the  awful  box,  and  it  was  finally  removed 
from  the  cage.  The  next  day  the  genuine 
box  of  sugar  was  put  into  the  cage-,  but  the 
cautious  monkey  was  not  to  be  caught  again. 
He  remained  in  his  corner,  and  looked  dis- 
trustfully at  the  peace-offering.  It  might  be 
the  same  terrible  box ;  who  could  tell  ?  After 
a  while,  however,  his  desire  for  sugar  led  him 
to  venture  a  little  nearer  the  box,  and  so, 
keeping  himself  at  a  prudent  distance,  he 
went  round  and  round  it,  trying  to  make  up 
his  mind  whether  any  reasonably  safe  attempt 
on  the  contents  of  the  box  were  possible. 
He  got  nearer,  and  gave  the  box  a  little 
punch;  then  another;  then  he  knocked  it 
about  his  cage  smartly,  and  no  harm  came  of 


30        Records  of  William  3£.  Hunt. 

it.  He  took  it  up  and  carefully  inspected  it 
on  all  sides,  and  found  it  apparently  quite 
satisfactory.  Then,  putting  it  down,  the 
momentous  question  of  opening  the  box 
was  quickly  decided ;  he  made  a  rush  at  the 
cover,  removing  it  and  jumping  suddenly 
back,  but  no  terrible  jack  appeared.  He 
went  cautiously  up  and  looked  in ;  there 
were  his  harmless  little  lumps  of  sugar, — 
nothing  more. 

Never  was  a  monkey  happier.  He  chat- 
tered and  played  all  the  day  long,  evidently 
regarding  his  fearful  experience  as  an  ugly 
dream,  or  as  the  result  of  a  diseased  imagi- 
nation. But  his  happiness  was  short-lived; 
the  next  day  the  jack-in-the-box  was  put  in 
the  cage,  and  again  the  monkey  was  fright- 
ened and  perplexed,  and  the  box  had  to  be 
removed  from  the  cage  as  before.  Then,  in 
due  time,  the  jack  was  put  back  in  place  of 
the  sugar ;  and  so  the  poor  animal  was  kept 
in  anxious  uncertainty,  until  he  grew  thin 
and  nervous,  and  lost  his  appetite  and  sick- 
ened, and  the  experiment  was  given  up.  Af- 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  31 

ter  a  time  he  recovered  his  health  and  spirits, 
and  then,  just  for  once,  his  master  thought 
he  would  put  the  jack  into  the  cage,  instead 
of  the  sugar,  to  see  if  the  monkey  minded  it 
as  formerly.  The  confiding  little  fellow 
opened  the  box,  the  jack  leaped  out,  and  the 
monkey  fell  back  dead. 

At  one  of  his  visits  about  this  time  Mr. 
Hunt  informed  us  of  his  having  been  invited 
by  a  committee  to  lecture,  some  Sunday  after- 
noon, in  the  Horticultural  Hall  course.  We 
advised  him  by  all  means  to  accept,  and  he 
thought  perhaps  he  might.  .He  would  take 
for  a  subject  the  connection  between  religion 
and  art,  and  he  ran  on  and  told  us  what  he 
proposed  to  say,  talking  steadily  nearly  an 
hour.  After  finishing,  he  said,  "  There !  if 
some  one  could  have  taken  down  what  I 
have  been  saying,  it  would  be  just  what  I 
want  for  the  lecture."  I  offered  to  write  out 
in  the  morning  all  I  could  remember,  and  he 
gladly  accepted  the  proposal.  A  week  later 
he  had  given  up  all  notion  of  lecturing.  The 
notes  that  I  prepared  for  him  have  since  been 
mislaid,  much  to  my  regret. 


32        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


During  the  spring  of  1877  he  came  often 
to  the  house,  one  evening  marching  into  the 
study  playing  Home  Sweet  Home  on  a  little 
mouth-organ.  We  always  could  tell  how 
things  were  going  with  him  by  the  frequency 
of  his  visits.  When  he  was  happy  he  came 
often.  If  dispirited  or  anxious  over  a  diffi- 
cult portrait,  or  from  some  other  cause,  his 
visits  were  less  frequent.  He  said  to  us 
frankly  that  he  would  not  come  and  be  a 
bore,  never  realizing  for  a  moment  that  he 
could  not  be  a  bore,  whatever  his  mood. 
Sometimes  he  would  come  when  he  was  not 
feeling  in  good  spirits,  and  then  we  could  see 
that  he  was  exerting  himself  to  be  merry. 
On  such  occasions  he  would  be  more  gentle 
and  tender  than  usual,  but  there  would  be 
lapses  in  his  gayety,  and  he  would  sit  silent, 
biting  his  finger-nails,  his  thoughts  away  in 
his  studio  or  elsewhere. 

He  was  singularly  afraid  of  boring  people, 
and  when  about  to  confer  the  greatest  pos- 
sible boon,  namely,  the  taking  of  us  to  his 
studio,  he  would  beat  about  the  bush,  and 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  33 


almost  never  put  the  proposition  in  direct 
terms :  "  I've  got  two  or  three  little  things 
over  at  the  studio  that  I'm  going  to  show 
you  some  time ;  would  you  mind  going  over 
to-night,  or  some  other  night?  I'm  sorry 
it's  so  cold,  but  I  rather  want  you  to  see 
the  things  right  off,  now ;  I  can't  wait  very 
well."  Sometimes,  after  sitting  for  a  half 
hour  or  more,  he  would  say,  "  Well,  I  came 
in  to-night  to  ask  you  to  go  over  to  the  stu- 
dio, but,  really,  I  think  it  an  imposition,  you 
are  so  comfortable  here ;  but  I  should  like 
you  to  see  a  head  I've  just  been  working 
on."  This  was  not  an  affectation  of  manner ; 
it  was  ever  and  under  all  circumstances  the 
same.  He  always  considered  that  we  were 
doing  him  a  favor  to  go  with  him  to  his  stu- 
dio, and  that  our  acceptance  of  his  invitation 
was  possibly  a  matter  of  doubt,  as  if  it  were 
not  the  greatest  possible  pleasure  to  go  to 
his  studio  and  discuss  his  pictures  with  him ; 
we  would  have  gone  twenty  times  oftener  if 
asked.  But  to  the  very  last  his  invitations 
were  apologetic  or  timid,  and  when  he  got 


34        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

us  before  his  pictures,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
our  admiration  and  enthusiasm,  he  would 
sometimes  confess  that  he  came  to  us  a  few 
evenings  before  for  the  express  purpose  of 
inviting  us  to 'his  studio;  but  after  all,  he 
didn't  know  that  we  should  like  the  pictures, 
and  he  feared  he  might  be  dragging  us  out 
too  often,  and  so  he  said  nothing  about  it. 

One  evening  in  May  he  got  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  pigments.  I  had  started  him  off  by 
telling  him  that  I  had  some  Veronese  green 
so  thin  that  I  could  find  no  effect  from  it. 
It  resulted  in  nothing  on  the  canvas. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  "  I  know  that 
kind  of  green ;  the  more  you  put  on,  the  less 
color  you  have.  It  vanishes.  It's  too  thin 
to  run  up-hill.  I  tell  you,  if  the  Frenchmen 
had  to  paint  with  our  pigments,  you  wouldn't 
hear  much  about  their  pictures."  "After 
all,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  the  nearest  thing  to 
nature  is  a  black-and-white  drawing.  Har- 
mony is  the  great  thing  to  strive  for,  and  one 
is  surer  of  this  in  black  and  white.  In  nearly 
all  paintings  there  is  a  certain  lack  of  bar- 


Records  of  William  M.  Sunt.  35 


mony,  and  therefore  a  good  drawing  is  more 
satisfactory.  Suggestion  of  color  is  better 
than  color  itself.  What  green  is  to  land- 
scape red  is  to  flesh.  All  landscape  painting 
is  too  green ;  the  green  should  be  felt  be- 
neath the  neutral  tint  in  landscape,  just  as 
the  red  should  be  felt  beneath  the  gray  tones 
in  flesh  painting.  Both  Millet  and  Correggio 
paint  brown,  and  then  contrast  it  with  a  blue 
that  appears  blue,  but  which  is  really  a  green. 
Their  pictures  do  not  strike  one  as  brown." 

The  last  time  he  was  in  Paris,  Millet  told 
him  that  he  would  paint  a  blonde  so  that  he 
could  put  pure  white  for  the  highest  lights 
of  the  face.  "  If  the  effect  is  harmonious,  it 
makes  no  difference  what  key  we  paint  on, 
high  or  low ;  but,  as  in  music,  one  must  be- 
gin and  end  on  the  same  key.  Painting  is 
vulgar  by  the  side  of  a  fine  charcoal  drawing. 
Imagination  and  suggestion  are  everything 
in  art.  Color  is  vulgar,  because  it  is  in  the 
direction  of  imitation.  It  is  prose  instead  of 
poetry.  The  less  imitation  the  more  sugges- 
tion, and  hence  the  more  imagination  and 


36        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt, 


poetry.  Drawing  as  compared  with  painting 
is  more  refined,  and  therefore  truer  art." 

During  this  month  we  spent  a  day  and 
night  as  guests  with  him  at  North  Easton. 
With  all  his  endeavors,  he  was  not  quite  at 
his  best  there,  being  anxious  lest  our  eating 
and  sleeping  should  not  be  exactly  what  he 
wished ;  he  had  brought  out  from  Boston 
some  bananas  and  other  fruits  for  a  supple- 
mentary course  at  dinner.  In  the  evening, 
on  coming  in,  he  asked  for  a  bit  of  charcoal, 
to  give  the  effect  of  a  view  he  had  just  seen 
on  the  river.  No  charcoal  wTas  to  be  found, 
so  he  took  a  bit  of  cork,  and  holding  it  over 
the  light  manufactured  his  coal,  and  then 
drew  on  a  scrap  of  paper  a  heavy  mass  of  trees 
against  a  bright  sunset  sky,  reflecting  them 
in  the  water  below.  A  brother  artist  who 
was  with  him  when  he  saw  the  sunset,  re- 
marked afterwards,  that  Mr.  Hunt  had  got 
the  effect  on  his  piece  of  paper,  and  that  he 
had  a  marvellous  facility  for  remembering  and 
reproducing  an  impression  with  a  few  sim- 
ple touches. 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  37 

One  evening,  this  month,  Mr.  Hunt  came 
to  tea,  and  went  with  us  to  a  concert,  which 
he  heartily  enjoyed.  Miss  Cary  was  the 
principal  singer,  and  her  appearance  and 
manner  on  the  stage  impressed  him  strongly. 
After  the  concert  he  was  full  of  talk  about 
her  breadth  of  style,  her  repose,  dignity,  large 
impression,  and  her  grand  and  noble  person. 
She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  looked  very 
large  to  him.  He  would  like  to  paint  her. 
She  would  weigh  more  than  a  hundred  and 
eighty,  and  he  would  have  his  painting  weigh 
as  much  as  she.  It  would  take  fifteen  hun- 
dred tubes  of  white  paint.  "  Her  singing  is 
fine  and  satisfactory.  It  has  variety  of  color 
and  tint.  Like  painting,  music  requires 
this." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Hunt  con- 
cluded that  bread  and  milk  was  the  only 
proper  diet  for  him.  When  asked  if  he 
thought  he  should  ever  drink  tea  or  coffee 
again,  he  said  that  he  knew  he  shouldn't. 
At  another  time  he  would  drink  tea  and  cold 
water,  no  wine.    Cold  water,  he  argued,  was 


38        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

the  natural  drink  for  mankind.  He  never 
felt  so  well  as  when  drinking  water,  and 
plenty  of  it.  Sometimes,  for  a  month  or  so, 
he  wonld  not  smoke,  no  matter  how  mild  or 
how  good  the  cigar  offered  him.  Nothing 
could  shake  his  resolution  in  these  matters-. 
He  would  listen  patiently  to  your  arguments 
in  favor  of  moderation ;  with  the  greatest 
gravity,  he  would  even  help  you  to  put  them 
in  the  most  plausible  form  ;  but  no  practical 
results  followed.  In  due  time  he  ate  and 
drank  and  smoked  again  as  other  men.  At 
one  period  he  was  fond  of  smoking  a  very 
low-priced,  mild  cigar.  For  the  time  being 
he  argued  that  it  was  foolish  for  a  man  to 
give  more  than  five  cents  for  a  cigar ;  and  he 
related  with  great  satisfaction  how  he  went 
into  the  Parker  House,  where  several  persons 
were  about  the  bar  smoking  their  fine  Ha- 
vanas,  and  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Give 
me  a  five-cent  cigar."  Soon  after  this  we 
noticed  in  his  studio  a  box  of  choice  Havanas, 
so  fine  that  each  cigar  was  provided  with  its 
individual  bracelet.     Putting  on  his  very 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  39 

funniest  expression,  the  artist  showed  us  how 
he  was  withdrawing  a  fine-cigar  now  and  then 
from  beneath,  and  putting  its  bracelet  on  to 
a  five  cent  one,  and  then  slyly  filling  up  the 
hole  with  it.  In  this  way,  as  he  explained, 
he  kept  his  box  full  of  nice  cigars. 

A  lady  was  describing  to  him  an  artist 
with  whom  he  was  unacquainted.  "  He  is," 
she  began,  "  light  complexioned,  freckled," — 
"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  Mr.  Hunt, 
"and  he  always  wears  brown  clothes." 
"  How  did  you  know  ?  Have  you  seen 
him  ?  "  "  No,  I've  never  seen  him,  but  that 
kind  of  fellow  always  wears  browm  clothes." 

Mr.  Hunt  was  not,  in  the  ordinary  sense, 
a  reader;  I  am  sure,  at  least,  that  he  read 
few  books  during  the  five  years  of  his  life 
that  Ave  knew  him  intimately.  His  conver- 
sation at  times  pointed  to  a  considerable  famil- 
iarity with  certain  parts  of  the  Bible  which 
he  had  read  and  discussed  with  Millet  many 
years  earlier,  with  parts  of  Shakespeare  and 
with  the  literature  of  art.  He  liked  to  refer 
to  Hazlitt's  art  criticisms  and  to  the  poetry 


40        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

of  Robert  Browning,  accrediting  the  latter 
with  far  more  correct  ideas  on  art  than  most 
of  the  other  poets.  He  liked  also  the  writ- 
ings of  Taine,  and  asked  us  to  read  what 
Fromentin  said  of  Rembrandt's  work  at  the 
time  it  appeared  in  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes.  Considering  that  he  read  so  sel- 
dom, it  was  rather  surprising  that  his  want 
of  book  knowledge  did  riot  make  itself  more 
felt ;  but  he  remembered  everything  that  he 
read  as  well  as  everything  that  he  heard,  and, 
besides,  what  he  had  of  his  own  to  say  was 
better  than  anything  in  books.  He  was  no 
reflected  light.  His  talk  was  more  generally 
the  result  of  his  personal  experience  or  ob- 
servation. Never  a  gossip,  he  talked  of  triv- 
ialities only  as  they  afforded  him  scope  for 
his  irrepressible  love  of  grotesque  narrative. 
He  rarely  spoke  on  current  topics  such  as 
are  discussed  in  the  newspapers,  and  one  sel- 
dom got  from  his  conversation  the  slightest 
hint  of  his  newspaper  reading.  It  is  said 
that  he  skimmed  a  daily  paper  quite  regu- 
larly, generally  tossing  it  down  after  a  mo- 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  41 


ment  or  two,  with  the  remark  that  "it  is 
strange  people  can  read  such  stuff."  He  sel- 
dom discussed  politics,  and  never  voted,  so 
far  as  I  know,  after  the  close  of  the  war. 
During  the  war  period  he  was  deeply  stirred 
and  very  loyal.  He  had  two  long  interviews 
with  John  Brown,  and  was  greatly  impressed 
by  him.  He  thought  him  a  marvellous  per- 
son ;  a  great  hero,  reminding  one  of  the  old 
prophets,  he  said.  He  made  arrangements 
to  paint  his  portrait,  but  meantime  Brown 
went  suddenly  to  his  death  in  Virginia.  At 
that  time  he  was  a  strong  Republican,  but 
later,  appeared  to  have  no  party  preferences 
whatever,  condemning  both  parties  in  good 
round  terms.  He  once  spoke  favorably  of 
Bristow  as  a  presidential  candidate ;  but  he 
had  lately  been  in  bathing  with  him  at  the 
beach,  and  the  latter's  fine,  robust  figure, 
which  he  liked,  had,  we  thought,  something 
to  do  with  his  preference. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  very  tenacious  of  cherished 
opinions,  though  never  egotistic  or  overbear- 
ing ;   always  ready  to  listen  to  dissenting 


42        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

views,  and  desirous  of  modifying  or  chan- 
ging his  own  whenever  shown  that  he  was 
wrong,  His  opinions  in  art  matters  were  so 
well  considered,  so  thoroughly  sound,  that  it 
was  not  easy  for  one  to  show  him  weak  points 
in  them  ;  yet  he  never  seemed  to  expect  any- 
body to  believe  a  thing  because  he  said  it,  but 
was  prepared  with  an  abundance  of  argument 
and  illustration  to  prove  it  true.  It  gave 
him,  usually,  little  effort  to  vanquish  an  op- 
ponent in  a  discussion  on  the  principles  or 
practice  of  art,  and  so  deftly  would  it  be 
done  that  his  adversary's  sense  of  discomfit- 
ure was  rather  pleasurable  and  satisfactory 
than  otherwise.  Once  vanquished,  however, 
one  felt  that  he  was  to  remain  vanquished. 
There  were,  nevertheless,  many  things  in  art 
that  Mr.  Hunt  was  not  sure  about,  and  these 
he  always  spoke  of  as  points  that  he  could 
not  pretend  to  decide. 

He  had,  as  I  have  said,  a  remarkable 
memory.  Nothing  great  or  small  could  es- 
cape it.  He  would  recall  trivial  remarks 
months  and  years  old.    Social  engagements, 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  43 


however,  he  found  great  difficulty  in  remem- 
bering ;  but  those  who  knew  him  well  knew 
exactly  which  ones  he  would  remember  and 
which  forget.  "  Don't  let's  name  any  par- 
ticular hour,  I  haven't  got  any  watch  now," 
or,  "  My  watch  doesn't  keep  any  sort  of 
time,"  or,  "  Yes,  yes,  I'll  try  and  come  round. 
What  time  did  you  say?"  All  this  meant 
that  he  would  forget ;  but  if  he  looked  at 
one  earnestly^  and  said  "  Yes  "  to  an  invita- 
tion, without  qualifications,  it  meant  yes,  and 
we  so  understood  it.  Engagements,  he  said, 
were  like  a  millstone  about  his  neck;  they 
were  like  a  cold  buckwheat  cake.  Other 
than  unimportant  social  engagements  he  kept 
to  the  very  letter,  and  required  others  to  keep. 
As  a  man  of  business  he  was  exact,  and  more 
methodical  than  is  generally  supposed. 

One  evening  in  the  winter  of  1877,  he 
came  in  to  see  us,  and  finally  got  to  talking 
about  the  Art  School  at  the  Museum.  It 
was  all  very  well  that  the  school  should  not 
give  perfect  satisfaction.  It  would  not  do  to 
be  too  easily  satisfied.    He  kept  clear  of  the 


44        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


whole  thing  as  much  as  possible.  "  They 
make  too  much  fuss  over  the  students.  If 
two  per  cent,  or  one  per  cent,  make  anything 
of  artists,  it  is  as  much  as  one  should  expect. 
Grunclemann  is  painstaking,  and  perhaps  well 
enough  as  a  teacher ;  possibly  not  broad 
enough ;  but  let  him  go  on  five  years  at  least 
before  judging  of  his  qualifications.  They 
think  over  there  that  the  school,  if  good 
enough,  must  make  artists.  There  never 
was  a  greater  mistake.  Why  don't  they  set 
up  a  school  to  make  poets?  All  that  a 
teacher  can  do  is  to  teach.  If  the  stuff  is  in 
a  pupil  he  may  make  a  painter.  It  was  the 
mackerel  out  of  the  school  that  fattened 
Daniel  Webster."  He  was  quite  merry  over 
his  answer  to  some  of  the  committee  who 
asked  his  views  of  the  proper  limits  as  to 
the  age  of  pupils  to  be  admitted  to  the  art 
instruction.  He  replied  that  none  should  be 
admitted  under  four  years  of  age,  and  none 
above  eighty. 

Looking  at  a  large  landscape  in  the  room, 
he  said,  uAs  a  rule,  vertical  lines  darker, 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


horizontal  lines  lighter ;  but  one  can't  paint 
by  rule  ;  circumstances  may  require  the  hori- 
zontal lines  to  be  darkest.  There  is  a  good 
effect  of  light  in  this  sky.  Light  in  the  sky 
or  elsewhere  is  not  so  well  produced  by  put- 
ting dark  against  it  as  by  a  gradation  of  tone 
from  the  dark  towards  it.  Light  radiates, 
and  one  must  try  to  produce  the  appearance 
of  radiation  to  get  the  highest  effect.  No 
matter  if  the  picture  be  on  a  low  key. 
Neither,  if  the  gradation  is  finely  done, 
need  the  dark  be  very  dark  nor  the  light 
very  light.  Atmosphere  and  light  are  the 
great  things  to  work  for  in  landscape  paint- 
ing." 

On  another  occasion,  being  asked  if  a  cer- 
tain landscape  painting  were  not  too  green, 
he  answered,  "  Too  green  ?  No,  not  too 
green  if  you  felt  like  painting  green.  If  one 
feels  like  painting  green,  it's  best  to  paint 
green.  Under  such  circumstances  it's  of  no 
use  to  try  to  paint  any  other  color.  If  you 
feel  like  painting  brown  or  gray,  paint  those 
colors." 


46        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

In  a  conversation  about  the  photographing 
of  his  pictures,  he  was  asked,  in  consideration 
of  the  fact  that  yellow  came  out  black,  and 
purple  white,  in  a  photograph,  why  one  should 
not  paint  with  a  view  to  photography,  so  that 
the  lights  and  darks  would  represent  the  in- 
tentions of  the  artist.  64  Because  one  should 
not  paint  with  a  view  to  anything  but  to 
paint  his  picture.  If  you  have  views  of  any- 
thing beyond  that,  you  do  poor,  mechanical 
work." 

Mr.  Hunt  was  especially  lenient  towards 
earnest  work  of  young  artists.  He  was  se- 
vere on  pretension  and  conceit  only.  Of  a 
portrait  he  said  there  was  "no  inside  to  it. 
It  looked  like  a  bug  that  another  bug  had 
eaten  up  all  except  the  shell." 

There  was  never  a  question  as  to  how  Mr. 
Hunt  should  be  entertained,  for  he  enter- 
tained himself  as  well  as  those  about  him. 
No  subject  was  too  great  for  him  to  discuss, 
and  none  too  small.  He  interested  himself 
at  one  time  greatly  in  our  Manx  cats,  discov- 
ering that  it  was  difficult  to  determine  their 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


47 


centre  of  gravity ;  that  their  whole  anatomy 
and  movements  differed  entirely  from  those 
of  cats  with  tails.  He  studied  our  family  of 
Manx  kittens,  and  finding  their  nest  not 
sufficiently  sumptuous  sent  one  morning, 
with  his  compliments,  a  handsome  cat  bas- 
ket, for  their  use. 

Afterwards  he  was  amused  to  learn  that 
the  old  cat  had  found  his  elegant  basket  an 
unsafe  repository  for  her  family,  and  had 
lugged  them  off,  while  her  unregenerate, 
grown-up,  fighting  son,  of  fringed  ears  and 
bruised  aspect,  had  taken  possession  of  it 
uninvited,  spending  his  entire  days  in  it  and 
such  nights  as  his  professional  engagements 
would  permit  of. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  ready  to  take  part  in  what- 
ever was  going  on  in  the  house.  One  even- 
ing his  hostess  was  doing  some  fancy  patch- 
work, and  immediately  he  became  absorbed 
in  its  condition  and  development,  requesting 
the  liberty  of  sewing  in  a  square,  which  he 
did  on  the  spot  with  stitches  so  neat  as  to 
excite  extravagant   admiration.    The  deli- 


48        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

cacy  and  dexterity  of  his  manipulations  were 
sometimes  astonishing.  Once,  in  speaking 
of  his  ability  to  do  fine  work  with  the  brush, 
if  he  chose,  he  asked  for  a  pencil,  and  taking 
a  bit  of  note  paper  wrote  one  of  our  names, 
made  up  of  seven  letters,  one  of  them  a  cap- 
ital, so  fine  that  I  found  a  magnifying-glass 
indispensable  for  reading  it.  The  space 
taken  up  by  the  seven  letters  was  just  one 
eighth  of  an  inch  in  length,  every  letter 
being  firm  and  distinctly  legible.  On  put- 
ting down  the  pencil  he  remarked,  "  That 
isn't  nearly  as  fine  as  I  can  write  sometimes. 
I  could  do  much  better  with  a  fine-pointed 
pencil.  Still,  this  isn't  easy  to  do  ;  just  try 
it."  And  we  all  tried  it,  and  found  it  impos- 
sible. One  cold  evening  a  lady  complained 
of  a  crack  on  the  end  of  her  forefinger  that 
would  not  heal  and  was  very  sore.  uLet  me 
fix  it,"  said  Mr.  Hunt.  He  took  out  his  pen- 
knife, sharpened  it  on  his  boot,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pare  the  skin  down  thin  at  the 
edges  of  the  crack,  not  an  easy  thing  to  do 
at  the  end  of  the  finger,  and  a  task  requiring 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  49 

considerable  confidence  in  both  patient  and 
operator ;  but  he  did  it  neatly,  and,  advising 
a  poultice  for  the  night,  promised  that  it 
should  be  a  cure  in  thirty-six  hours ;  and  it 
was. 

I  have  known  him  to  paint  an  hour  or 
more  on  a  cow  less  than  an  inch  and  a  half 
in  length,  supposed  to  be  already  finished. 
He  first  scraped  off  the  surface  of  the  paint 
with  a  knife,  giving  it  a  speckled  look,  and, 
remarking  that  he  guessed  he  would  make  a 
tortoise-shell  cow  of  it,  worked  continuously 
and  deliberately  with  fine  sable  brushes  until 
he  had  what  he  called  "  a  finished  cow." 

I  mention  with  great  satisfaction  the  fact 
of  his  working  so  long  and  patiently  on  this 
small  cow,  because,  like  Rubens,  he  was  fond 
of  painting  with  great  sweeps  of  the  brush ; 
as  a  result  of  this  it  has  happened  that  per- 
sons who  dislike  brush  marks  and  rough- 
ness of  surface,  have  so  associated  his  name 
with  these  characteristics  of  rapid  execution, 
as  to  overlook  his  work  of  an  entirely  differ- 
ent character. 


50        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

I  remember  to  have  met  one  who  seriously 
argued  that  Mr.  Hunt  could  neither  draw 
nor  paint  in  what  is  called  a  finished  style. 

For  a  month  or  more,  at  one  time,  when 
taking  wine  in  the  evening  with  us,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  resting  his  empty  wine-glass 
on  the  top  of  his  head.  There  he  would  sit 
on  the  sofa  nodding  his  head  in  conversa- 
tion, but  never  permitting  the  glass  to  fall. 
The  top  of  his  head  was  very  smooth,  and 
we  were  apprehensive,  and  this  gave  great 
zest  to  his  performance.  After  a  while  we 
became  used  to  this  habit,  but  one  evening 
the  wine-glass  slid  from  his  head  and  broke 
on  the  carpet.  This  ended  the  performance 
forever ;  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  try  it 
again. 

A  few  evenings  later  he  amused  us  and 
himself  by  substituting  for  the  wine-glass  a 
smooth  paper-weight,  which  he  balanced  on 
his  head  as  before  ;  to  vary  the  entertainment 
he  would  now  and  then  put  a  sheet  of  paper 
under  the  weight,  and  then  snatch  it  quickly 
away,  leaving  the  paper-weight  undisturbed 
on  his  head. 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  51 

He  is  said  to  have  practised  putting  his 
soup  plate  on  top  of  his  head  at  the  restau- 
rants, for  the  convenience  of  the  waiters  ;  but 
he  did  nothing  of  the  kind  on  the  evening 
when  he  invited  us  all  to  dine  with  him  at  a 
little  place  behind  the  Public  Library.  As 
usual  when  entertaining  guests,  he  was  over- 
anxious lest  everything  should  not  pass  off 
exactly  as  he  wished,  and  so  behaved  more 
like  other  people.  Still,  the  occasion  seemed 
to  afford  him  great  satisfaction,  for  when  he 
came  to  us,  a  few  evenings  afterward,  he  said 
as  he  left  the  door,  holding  up  the  fingers 
of  one  hand,  "  Th^re  are  only  about  so  many 
of  us  in  Boston,  you  know ;  we  ought  to 
meet  in  that  way  oftener."  Who  the  other 
three  were  I  never  knew  with  certainty  ;  I 
could  only  be  sure  that  one  was  Mr.  Thomas 
Robinson,  for  whom  he  had  the  tenderest 
possible  friendship.  He  was  an  enthusiastic 
admirer  of  the  talent  of  his  friend,  also. 
Of  the  head  of  a  bull  by  Robinson  in  our 
possession,  he  said,  "  I  don't  believe  there  is  a 
man  living  at  the  present  time  who  could 


52        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

paint  this  subject  as  well  as  Tom  has  done 
it  in  that  picture.' ' 

January  18,  1878.  Mr.  Hunt  came  in 
rather  late,  but  seemed  desirous  that  we 
should  go  over  to  his  studio  and  see  an  un- 
finished sunset  that  he  was  at  work  on.  It 
promised  to  be  very  fine,  but  for  some  rea- 
son or  other  it  was  never  completed.  He 
took  out  from  a  large  depository  several 
other  new  paintings,  notably  the  two  views, 
almost  exactly  alike,  of  Gloucester  Harbor. 
They  were  of  the  same  tone  and  on  the  same 
key ;  but  the  first  was,  technically  speaking, 
somewhat  smoother,  while  the  second  had 
a  little  more  light  in  it.  The  latter  was 
painted  with  almost  inconceivable  rapidity, 
within  three  hours,  and  never  touched  after- 
wards. I  remember  also  a  large  landscape, 
more  than  twice  the  size  of  these,  that  Mr. 
Hunt  told  me  was  one  of  two  pictures  that  he 
had  painted  in  one  day.  I  recall  the  more 
important  fact  that  the  landscape  in  question 
was  one  of  his  best  and  one  of  the  finest  I 
know,  exquisitely  gray  and  silvery  in  tone 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt  55 


the  intense  artistic  temperament ;  indeed 
almost  the  only  conspicuous  examples  among 
the  great  painters  of  calm,  judicial,  unbiased 
opinions  upon  contemporary  work  are  seen 
in  Rubens  and  Velasquez.  Reynolds  is  a 
noteworthy  example  of  the  opposite  kind. 

One  evening,  Mr.  Hunt  sat  with  a  cheer- 
ful little  Dupre  in  his  lap  for  half  an  hour, 
praising  it  without  stint,  and  the  next  day 
shut  himself  in  his  studio  and  painted  a 
brown  picture  that  strikingly  recalled  the 
Dupre  in  color  and  composition.  When  I 
first  saw  his  brown  painting,  some  weeks 
afterwards,  I  exclaimed  at  once,  64  There  you 
have  a  Dupre  picture  !  "  But  the  artist  made 
no  response,  nor  did  we  learn  until  some  time 
later  that  it  had  been  painted  under  the  cir- 
cumstances above  stated.  Being  shown  a 
spring  landscape,  he  studied  it  over  some 
time,  and  then  exclaimed,  "I'm  going  to 
paint  a  spring  picture  !  "  This  was  near  the 
first  of  May,  and  in  a  few  clays  we  were  in- 
vited to  see  his  new  picture,  which  proved 
to  be  the  painting  that  he  named  Spring 


56        Records  of  William  M.  Stmt. 

Chickens,  the  original  charcoal  drawing  of 
which  he  presented  us,  possibly  as  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  our  claim  for  the  motive 
of  the  new  picture. 

Being  shown  a  small  painting  by  Kiihl,  a 
Munich  artist,  representing  a  drunken  man 
holding  a  half-filled  glass  of  wine  in  each 
hand,  he  remarked,  "It  is  very  skillfully 
done,  but  what  is  the  use  of  doing  it?  Why 
choose  such  a  subject,  when  pleasant  ones  are 
all  around  us  ?  The  subject  isn't  worthy  of 
the  painter." 

Of  the  landscapes  of  a  number  of  the  stu- 
dents of  the  Munich  school  in  New  York  he 
said,  "  They  show  the  result  of  good  school- 
ing ;  yes,  they  have  a  neat  little  recipe  for 
skies."  He  was  very  intolerant  of  everything 
in  painting  that  savored  of  a  school  or  estab- 
lished method,  and  vastly  pleased  over  any- 
thing that  exhibited  evidence  of  earnest, 
independent  work,  no  matter  how  crude. 
Amateur  paintings  attracted  his  attention  at 
once  if  they  happened  to  have  some  merit. 
Now  and  then  we  used  to  put  such  a  picture 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  57 


over  the  table  in  the  study,  in  a  good  light. 
If  there  was  the  least  bit  of  good  in  it,  Mr. 
Hunt  noticed  it  immediately  on  entering  the 
room.  He  would  say  from  across  the  room, 
"Ah,  a  new  picture!  When  did  you  do 
that?  I  like  it,"  or,  "You've  got  a  good 
sky ;  there's  light  in  it,"  or,  "  That's  amus- 
ing ;  you've  got  a  fuller  color  than  usual  in 
your  trees."  If  the  picture  pleased  him  still 
better,  he  would  go  to  it,  look  it  over  closely 
to  see  how  it  had  been  done,  and  then  say, 
"I  like  it,"  simply,  or  perhaps  add,  "You 
might  have  saved  yourself  these  strokes  of 
the  brush  here  in  the  foreground ;  they  don't 
count  for  anything."  If,  however,  the  pic- 
ture put  over  the  table  for  him  to  see  was 
too  poor,  he  never  appeared  to  see  it.  Under 
such*  circumstances  he  would  sit  over  against 
it  all  the  evening,  and  never  be  caught  look- 
ing at  it  once.  I  remember  such  an  occasion, 
when,  having  put  a  little  chef  oVceuvre,  as  I 
half  feared  and  hoped,  in  its  proper  place, 
the  coming  of  Mr.  Hunt  was  impatiently 
awaited.    When  at  last  he  came,  to  our  sur- 


58        Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 


prise  no  notice  was  taken  of  the  new  picture. 
Lest  this  should  be  mere  accident  or  over- 
sight, I  took  great  pains  during  the  evening, 
not  to  obstruct  his  sight  by  getting  between 
him  and  the  cherished  object.  It  was  all  to 
no  purpose.  There  was  red,  white,  and  blue 
in  the  picture,  but  he  didn't  see  it. 

It  is  remarkable,  considering  the  provoca- 
tion to  which  he  wras  subjected,  that  he 
should  never  have  criticised  one  of  these  pic- 
tures adversely.  Occasionally  he  made  sug- 
gestions in  a  quiet,  confidential  kind  of  way. 
For  instance,  in  a  picture  where,  in  the  mid- 
dle distance,  there  were  some  slim  young 
walnut-trees  put  against  the  highest  light  of 
the  sky,  he  said,  "  I  think,  perhaps,  there  is  a 
little  too  much  color  in  those  trees.  Against 
that  bright  sky  I  doubt  if  one  would  see 
much  color ;  they  would  be  more  neutral  in 
tone.  Still,  I'm  not  sure  about  it.  I'd  think 
it  over  before  doing  anything ;  but  my  im- 
pression is  now  that  if  the  color  were  taken 
out  of  the  trees  it  would  be  truer  to  nature, 
and  help  the  picture  otherwise.    But  don't 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  59 

do  it  until  you  think  it  over ;  it's  possible  it 
may  be  better  as  it  is." 

Being  asked  if  he  liked,  personally,  a  cer- 
tain young  artist,  of  affected  manner  and 
foppish  appearance,  he  replied,  "I  don't  know 
him.  I  know  his  clothes.  I've  always 
known  his  clothes,  but  I  don't  know  him,  I 
can  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  a  man  when 
I  meet  him ;  I  look  right  through  and  be- 
yond and  around  him." 

Starting  out,  one  morning,  from  his  Tre- 
mont  Street  studio  for  his  breakfast,  he  en- 
countered an  old  woman  on  the  stairs  carry- 
ing down  a  big  box  of  ashes.  He  at  once 
insisted  on  lending  a  hand,  and,  taking  half 
the  burden  upon  himself,  they  landed  it  on 
the  sidewalk  together.  "  I  didn't  dare  to 
look  up,"  he  said,  "  but  I  could  feel  the  eyes 
of  people  boring  into  my  back." 

June,  1878.  Mr.  Hunt  wrote  us  from 
Niagara  Falls  that  he  had  definitely  accepted 
the  contract  for  painting  two  large  pictures 
on  the  walls  of  the  Assembly  Chamber  at 
Albany.    He  had  accepted  the  offer  with 


60        Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 


great  hesitation.  On  one  occasion  he  said  he 
was  almost  sorry  that  he  had  entertained  the 
project  at  all.  It  was  an  immense  job.  The 
risk  of  failure  was  too  great ;  he  had  never 
done  anything  of  the  kind.  He  should  feel 
happier  if  they  would  just  withdraw  their 
proposal ;  it  would  take  a  load  off  his  mind. 

Two  weeks  later  he  came  home  from  Niag- 
ara, and  was  enthusiastic  over  the  grandeur 
of  the  falls  and  the  artistic  beauties  of  the 
neighborhood,  talking  of  this  subject  and  the 
projected  Albany  pictures  the  entire  even- 
ing. He  wished  one  of  the  Albany  paintings 
to  be  a  large  view  of  Niagara,  which  he 
thought  he  could  make  attractive  for  the 
position,  and  which  would  be  very  appropri- 
ate as  representing  a  magnificent  bit  of  scen- 
ery within  the  limits  of  the  State.  But  the 
authorities  preferred  The  Discoverer  as  a 
companion  picture  for  the  Anahita. 

His  last  visit  to  us  before  leaving  for 
Albany  was  on  the  evening  of  October  9th. 
He  had  been  working  hard  over  the  large 
sketches  and  the  separate  figures,  and  was  of 


Records  of  William  M.  Sunt.  61 


course  anxious  as  to  the  success  of  his  great 
venture  and  impatient  to  get  at  the  work  in 
Albany,  the  beginning  of  which  had  been  de- 
layed owing  to  tardiness  of  some  sort  there, 
and  which,  nevertheless,  must  be  finished  by 
the  first  of  January,  so  that  the  chamber 
should  be  in  order  for  the  meeting  of  the 
legislature.  He  appeared  tired,  this  evening, 
but  was  very  gentle  and  kind,  and  left  us  the 
impression  that  he  was  already  a  little  home- 
sick in  anticipation  of  his  enforced  stay  at 
Albany.  His  mirth  seemed  forced,  and  when 
he  left  he  was  quite  unnaturally  jolly,  declar- 
ing that  it  wasn't  worth  while  to  say  good-by, 
that  he  should  be  back  again  in  Boston  in  no 
time,  that  the  time  would  pass  very  quickly, 
and  that  he  hardly  felt  as  though  he  were 
leaving  Boston  at  all. 

On  October  30th  he  sent  us  photographs 
of  the  condition  of  his  work  at  that  time,  ac- 
companied by  the  following  characteristic 
letter : — 


62        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

Albany,  October  28,  1878. 

My  dear   :  I  think  I  must  send  you 

a  photograph  of  the  walls  as  a  record  of  the 
work  thus  far.  One  week  at  work,  and  the 
outlines  are  about  completed,  and  painting 
begins,  I  hope,  to-morrow. 

I  can  tell  you,  it  is  like  sailing  a  seventy- 
four,  or  riding  eight  horses  in  a  circus.  It 
fills  one's  lungs  to  breathe  in  front  of  such 
spaces.  The  figure  of  Columbus,  or  the  Dis- 
coverer, is  eleven  feet  from  his  crown  to  the 
boat  where  his  shins  disappear.  His  hand  is 
broader  than  this  page  is  long.  The  scaffold- 
ing is  spacious,  and  the  bridge  connecting 
the  two  is  about  seven  feet  wide  and  seventy 
feet  long  ;  so  you  see  everything  is  in  propor- 
tion, and  it  is  delightful  to  work  forty  feet 
from  the  floor. 

It  will  be  a  great  mortification  if  we  don't 
succeed.  Just  think  of  a  twin  mortification 
forty-five  by  sixteen ! 

fours  truly,  W.  M.  Hunt. 

P.  S.  It  is  lucky  that  I  am  growing  far- 
sighted  and  require  large  print  at  a  distance. 
Remember  me  kindly  to  all. 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  63 


Soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter  we 
heard  that  he  was  working  very  hard,  —  a 
part  of  the  night  by  calcium  light,  as  well  as 
during  the  whole  day,  —  and  we  wrote  ex- 
pressing fear  for  his  health,  and  advising  him 
not  to  work  by  night  and  to  take  plenty  of 
sleep.    This  was  his  answer  :  — 

Albany,  Sunday,  November  24,  1878. 
My  dear  Friends  :  I  received  your  note 
of  warning  not  to  paint  all  night,  and  I  fol- 
low your  advice  to  the  letter,  for  I  paint  all 
day,  and  should  be  only  too  thankful  (I 
think)  to  have  a  light  of  any  kind  these  dark 
days.  As  you  may  imagine,  a  scaffold  ten 
feet  wide  throws  quite  a  shadow,  when  there 
is  light  enough  to  throw  anything.  We  have 
been  obliged  for  the  last  week  to  use  torches 
when  we  want  to  see  our  work  clearly,  and 
we  begin  about  nine  o'clock,  A.  M.,  and  come 
away  about  six  o'clock,  P.  M.  Lunch  on 
board. 

Now  you  needn't  pity  us  a  bit,  and  this 
apparent  whining  is  merely  a  form  of  brag, 


64        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

or  something  that  we  are  rather  proud  of,  and 
something  for  an  excuse  to  sing  about  if  the 
things  look  ill  when  the  staging  comes  down. 

It  is  good,  steady,  long-winded  work,  and 
enough  of  it,  —  that's  just  what  it  is;  im- 
mensely instructive,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  I 
can  conceive  now  more  readily  why  those 
old  fellows  were  not  idiots  or  nigglers  in 
their  business,  after  they  had  passed  a  life  in 
front  of  walls  and  painted  over  every  large 
room  they  had  ever  lived  in. 

We  have  every  encouragement  here,  and 
our  employers  are  pleased  with  the  work 
thus  far.  All  the  stone-cutters  take  great 
interest  in  it,  and  that  is  very  encouraging. 

We  have  every  advantage  here,  except 
that  we  have  had  thus  far  no  art  critics.  I 
suppose  that  if  we  had  been  assisted  by  their 
presence  and  advice  we  should  have  already 
finished  our  work. 

Oh,  it  is  a  luxury  to  work  unsurrounded 
by  winners ! 

We  can  paint  horses  sky  blue  if  we  choose, 
and  nobody  begs  us  to  desist. 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  65 


If  the  work  looks  well  when  it  is  done,  I 
shall  insist  on  your  coming  up ;  if  not  — 
when  we  meet  well  act  as  though  nothing 
had  happened. 

Yours  truly,  W.  M.  Hunt. 

P.  S.  Have  you  heard  anything  of  the 
body  in  Boston  ? 

P.  P.  S.  Have  there  been  any  traces  in 
Boston  ? 

P.  SSS.  If  you  hear  anything  of  the 
"  body,"  please  inform. 

The  several  postscripts  related  to  the 
search  for  the  stolen  body  of  Stewart,  in 
which,  it  appears,  he  had  a  very  active  inter- 
est. 

November  29,  1878.  Mr.  Hunt  spent  a 
long  evening  with  us.  He  had  arrived  in 
town  the  day  before,  and  had  intended  to 
pass  his  first  evening  at  our  house,  but  on 
calling  and  finding  as  out,  he  had  enjoined 
silence  upon  the  servant,  and,  trusting  to 
luck  that  we  should  hear  nothing  of  him 
about  town,  he  managed  to  take  us  entirely 


66        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


by  surprise.  He  walked  in  upon  us  unan- 
nounced, and  was  as  happy  and  light-hearted 
all  the  evening  as  we  had  ever  seen  him. 
The  talk  naturally  turned  to  his  all-absorb- 
ing work  at  Albany,  and  although  he  spoke 
of  it  as  if  there  were  still  a  possibility  of 
failure,  his  manner  and  his  happiness  told  of 
assured  success. 

W e  visited  him  at  Albany  on  December 
24th.  He  was  very  cordial  and  light-hearted, 
and  appeared  well  satisfied  with  his  work, 
though  a  little  apprehensive  of  the  critics. 
After  finishing  his  pictures  he  took  a  short 
vacation  in  the  country,  and  returned  to 
Boston.  He  seemed  very  tired,  mentally  and 
physically,  at  this  time,  and  although  cheer- 
ful, it  was  not  the  sunny,  wayward  cheerful- 
ness of  old  times.  The  swollen  knee,  to 
which  it  had  been  necessary  to  apply  a  surgi- 
cal bandage  during  the  last  days  of  his  fa- 
tiguing work  at  Albany,  was  still  a  cause  of 
anxiety.  Nevertheless,  although,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  he  felt  played  out,  he  thought  he 
might  begin  on  some  portraits  in  the  course 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  67 

of  a  week  or  two.  When  told  that  he  should 
not  touch  a  brush  for  at  least  two  months, 
and  could  not  possibly  get  rested  sooner,  he 
would  not  believe  it.  In  about  three  weeks 
he  began  painting,  but  was  forced  to  stop 
again  and  take  more  rest ;  he  soon  resumed 
work,  and  did,  as  is  well  known,  some  of  the 
best  painting  of  his  life.  The  Gardner  por- 
trait, for  example,  seems  to  be  in  important 
respects,  his  best.  As  a  painting  it  is  prob- 
ably as  fine  as  anything  that  has  been  done 
in  America,  and  takes  rank  with  the  best  of 
all  time. 

He  was  not  well  during  this  winter  and 
spring,  and  was  apt  to  relapse  into  an  irrita- 
ble mood  and  scold  the  critics  in  an  excitable 
way.  His  visits  to  us  were  rather  infre- 
quent. During  the  two  evenings  that  he 
spent  with  us  in  March,  it  was  remarked  that 
he  had  lost  his  old  gayety  of  manner.  He 
seemed  to  be  conscious  of  this  change  him- 
self, and  endeavored  to  make  up  for  it  by 
greater  kindness  and  gentleness.  His  last 
evening  at  our  house,  and  the  last  time  we 


68       Records  of  William  31.  Humt. 


saw  him,  was  on  the  7th  of  April,  1879.  He 
was  never  more  cordial  than  on  this  occasion, 
but  all  he  said  and  did  appeared  the  result  of 
effort.  He  said  he  was  very  tired,  and  being 
offered  wine  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and 
took  out  some  malt,  saying  that  this  was  the 
only  wine  he  allowed  himself  now.  Soon 
after  nine  o'clock  he  said  he  must  go  home, 
so  as  to  get  to  bed  early,  and  presently,  his 
companion  not  being  quite  ready  to  go,  he 
took  her  gently  by  the  ear  and  led  her  out 
into  the  hall,  saying,  "  I  must  go,"  an  expres- 
sion that  we  had  never  heard  him  use  before 
with  earnestness.  As  he  passed  out  of  the 
door  with  a  ringing  "  Good-night,"  one  of  us 
said,  "  We  shall  never  see  him  again ; "  the 
other,  66  Oh,  yes ;  he  has  a  splendid  constitu- 
tion. A  summer's  rest  will  bring  him  all 
right  again." 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


69 


III. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  one  of  the  most  patient  of 
men  when  patience  became  really  necessary ; 
yet  the  exercise  of  this  virtue  was  not  pleas- 
ant to  him.  It  wore  upon  his  nervous 
strength  and  exhausted  him.  It  was  admira- 
ble, but  it  was  costly,  and  when  all  outward 
manifestations  bespoke  submission  and  har- 
mony he  was  often  most  restive.  The  delays 
incident  to  the  acceptance  of  the  contract  for 
the  Albany  work,  and  the  subsequent  wait- 
ing for  the  room  to  be  got  into  condition  for 
him  to  begin  painting,  were  severely  felt. 
Some  extracts  from  letters  dated  at  his  stu- 
dio and  addressed  to  his  assistant,  while  the 
latter  was  at  Niagara,  will  show  this :  — 

"  I  am  glad  that  everything  goes  on  so  well 
at  the  Falls  ;  for,  among  other  reasons,  it  ena- 
bles me  to  be  patient  with  my  work  here,  and 
also  to  bear  with  patience  the  delays  neces- 


70        Records  of  William  M.  Sunt. 


sary  where  many  are  interested.  Both  Mr. 
Eidlitz  and  Mr.  Dorsheimer  have  written  me 
that  they  were  unable  to  be  here  to  meet  me 
to-day,  as  we  had  agreed.  Eidlitz  is  to  come 
the  last  of  the  week,  and  Mr.  D.  on  Sundaj^. 
In  the  mean  time  I  have  enough  to  busy  my- 
self about.  I  feel  that  even  in  the  event  of 
m}^  not  undertaking  the  work  it  will  not 
have  been  entirely  lost  time,  as  I  am  think- 
ing over  a  good  many  things  which  I  would 
have  slept  over,  had  not  an  occasion  called 
them  up.  I  regret  much  not  being  able  to 
be  at  the  Falls  to  complete  the  work  there 
before  hot  weather.  But  I  don't  think  it 
would  be  well  to  growl  much  at  my  luck.  I 
am  pleased  that  Tom  is  doing  well.  Remem- 
ber me  to  him,  and  ask  him  to  write  and  tell 
me  how  the  brOwn  mare's  legs  and  feet  are. 
Also,  he  must  be  sure  not  to  let  the  horses 
go  too.  long  without  having  their  feet  looked 
to  and  shoes  placed." 

In  another  note  at  this  time  he  says,  "  I  am 
quite  as  anxious  to  be  in  N.  F.  as  you  are  to 
have  me,  and  the  time  lost  in  questioning  and 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


71 


doubt  is  very  perplexing ;  but  I  suppose  we 
must  look  at  it  as  a  good  thing.  I  have  been 
trying  some  experiments  in  throwing  up 
large  figures  in  my  room  from  small  draw- 
ings, and  they  work  pretty  well.  Will  write 
soon  and  often,  and  like  to  hear  from  you." 

This  letter  was  sent  off  without  either  date 
or  signature.  He  rarely  dated  his  letters, 
but  usually  affixed  his  signature. 

Mr.  Hunt  was,  perhaps,  more  than  most 
artists  impatient  of  the  ordinary  incompetent 
criticism,  and  being  by  reason  of  his  temper- 
ament an  ardent  hater  for  cause,  naturally 
disliked  a  class  of  talking  or  writing  people 
who,  he  felt,  misunderstood  and  misrepre- 
sented him.  His  enmity  was  notably  excited 
by  the  kind  of  simplicity  that  marched  up  to 
a  picture  painted  to  be  seen  at  a  distance  of 
ten  feet,  and,  putting  its  nose  against  the 
canvas,  prated  of  brush  marks  and  rough- 
ness and  the  lack  of  finish.  I  remember 
hearing  Mr.  Hunt  and  Mr.  Joseph  Jefferson 
compare  opinions  upon  the  effect  of  looking 
at  pictures  from  wrong  distances.  They 


■ 

72        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

quite  agreed  that  it  was  necessary  to  modify 
one's  representations  to  suit  the  distance  of 
the  actor  from  the  audience ;  that  good  act- 
ing in  a  small  auditorium  might  not  be  effec- 
tive in  a  larger  room. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  a  believer  in  solid  masculine 
work.  He  had  been  a  painter  long  enough 
to  appreciate,  in  his  own  productions,  the 
worth  of  time  in  mellowing  the  tone  and 
smoothing  the  surface  of  paintings  in  oil. 
No  complaint  was  ever  heard  of  a  want  of 
finish  or  smoothness  in  the  painting  called 
The  Prodigal  Son,  recently  on  exhibition  at 
the  Art  Museum.  It  appears,  indeed,  more 
"finished"  or  smooth  than  many  a  Holbein 
or  a  Ribera;  yet,  two  years  after  it  was 
painted,  in  1853,  its  surface  was  so  coarse 
and  rough  that  the  texture  of  the  sheep-skin 
on  the  back  of  the  smaller  figure  could  not 
be  distinguished  from  the  flesh  painting  ex- 
cept by  its  color.  Mr.  Hunt  recognized  a 
certain  crudeness  and  roughness  as  valuable 
qualities  in  fresh  work,  and  did  not  choose 
to  be  forced  into  a  way  of  painting  that  he 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  73 

did  not  approve.  Rembrandt  painted  so 
roughly  in  his  larger  pictures,  that  his  pat- 
rons complained  bitterly ;  but  we  hear  little 
now  of  his  lack  of  finish,  although  his  paint- 
ings have  not  yet  become  smooth.  None  of 
Mr.  Hunt's  work  approaches,  in  roughness  of 
surface,  the  loaded  lights  of  the  so-called 
Night  Watch,  or  the  picture  in  the  Museum 
Van  der  Hoop  called  La  fiancee  juive.  All- 
ston's  pictures  gave  great  satisfaction  when 
first  painted,  because  they  appeared  like  the 
work  of  the  old  masters.  To-day  they  look 
faded  and  lacking  in  masculine  qualities. 

Mr.  Hunt  disliked  also  a  set  of  admirers 
who  were  pleased  to  praise  his  early  work  at 
the  expense  of  his  present,  and  who  spoke  of 
his  latest  pictures  as  crude  and  hurried  in 
execution.  I  could  see,  or  thought  I  could 
see,  that,  averaging  his  work,  he  was  paint- 
ing, on  the  whole,  better  and  better  every 
year.  I  once  remarked  to  him  that  I  thought 
he  had  never  painted  so  well  as  now,  and 
asked  him  to  tell  me  frankly  his  own  opinion 
about  it.    He  said,  "I  think  I  am  painting 


74        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

now  better  than  at  any  period  of  my  life.  I 
should  certainly  be  very  much  discouraged  if 
I  thought  that,  with  all  my  trying,  I  had 
made  no  progress  for  twenty  years.  Of  this 
I  am  sure :  the  things  that  I  did  many  3rears 
ago  with  difficulty  look  very  easy  to  me  at 
the  present  time." 

The  charge  of  hasty  execution  is  nearly 
always  unmeaning.  The  value  or  beauty 
of  an  artistic  production  depends  upon  its 
quality,  and  not  upon  the  way  in  which  it  is 
created.  Corot  and  Millet  painted  in  a  way 
that  make  their  things  look,  to  the  uninitiated, 
both  hurried  and  sketchy ;  but  they  worked 
patiently  over  their  pictures,  and  purposely 
covered  up  the  appearance  of  hard  labor. 
This  gives  an  attractive  quality  to  their  work 
not  otherwise  attainable.  We  all  know  how 
long  it  took  these  great  artists  to  reach  the 
position  due  them,  owing  to  the  slow  process 
of  bringing  the  public  up  to  the  point  of 
realizing  that  what  they  called  unfinished,  ap- 
peared finished  to  the  painters,  and  was  at 
least,  just  what  the  masters  intended  it  to  be, 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


75 


and  not  something  hastily  begun  and  hastily 
tossed  aside  from  some  artistic  whim. 

Many  artists  work  slowly,  and  some  very 
rapidly.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  used  to  take 
as  many  as  three  hundred  commissions  in  a 
single  j^ear. 

Since  Mr.  Hunt's  death,  but  never  before 
within  my  knowledge,  he  has  been  spoken  of 
as  lacking  in  originality,  and  his  earlier  paint- 
ings, done  under  the  supervision  of  Couture 
or  Millet,  or  soon  after  leaving  their  ateliers, 
are  instanced  in  supporting  this  view.  But 
to  dispose  qf  this  accusation  we  have  only  to 
look  at  the  things  done  after  he  had  emanci- 
pated himself  from  his  pupillary  surround- 
ings. I  think  one  finds  in  his  later  work  a 
rather  aggressive  and  striking  originality  both 
in  conception  and  style.  Certainly  one 
would  never  speak  of  any  of  the  old  masters 
as  lacking  in  originality  because  their  early 
works  resembled  those  of  their  teachers. 
Such  fidelity  to  teaching  is  creditable  to  the 
pupil.  The  only  thing  that  gives  very  early 
work  any  value  whatever  is  its  close  resem- 
blance to  that  of  some  artist  of  reputation. 


76        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

In  the  spring  of  1877,  Mr.  Hunt  was 
especially  disturbed  by  an  article  published 
in  one  of  the  newspapers  of  New  York.  It 
purported  to  be  a  notice  of  the  spring  exhibi- 
tion of  the  Academy  of  that  city,  but  a  chief 
object  of  the  communication  was,  apparently, 
to  give  vent  to  some  splenetic  views  concern- 
ing Mr.  Hunt  and  his  pupils  and  friends  in 
Boston.  As  Mr.  Hunt  had  no  pictures  on 
exhibition  in  the  New  York  Academy  at  this 
time,  one  might  have  supposed  it  difficult  to 
introduce  him  and  his  local  surroundings 
into  such  an  article ;  but  the  writer  was 
equal  to  the  occasion.  Mr.  Duveneck  had 
some  pictures  there,  and  these  paintings,  the 
writer  went  on  to  say,  were  "not  needed 
here  so  much  as  in  Boston ;  "'  but  they  were 
particularly  needed  in  the  latter  place  "to 
1  break  up  the  stagnation  that  follows  monopo- 
ly in  the  art  world  no  less  inexorably  than  it 
does  in  the  market.  We  are  fortunately  free, 
now,  from  the  one-man  power  that  until  a 
little  while  ago  in  Boston  had  ground  down 
all  the  young  women  artists',  and  many  of 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  77 


the  young  men  artists',  bones  to  a  pale  una- 
nimity, and  which,  if  it  had  not  been  checked 
in  time,  would  have  swamped  art  in  our  sister 
city  in  monotony  and  mannerism.  Mr.  Du- 
veneck's  appearance  in  Boston  fluttered  the 
dove-cotes  there  to  some  purpose,  and  noth- 
ing that  we  know  of  in  the  recent  history  of 
our  art  world  seems  to  me  as  interesting  as 
the  cordial  enthusiasm  his  pictures  excited 
among  the  younger  members  of  the  Art 
Club,  —  an  enthusiasm  which  took  the  prac- 
tical shape  of  an  invitation  to  the  artist  to 
come  and  settle  in  Boston,  where,  it  was 
hoped,  he  might  give  efficient  help  in  the 
opposition  that  was  making  itself  felt  to  cer- 
tain arrogant  and  dogmatic  claims  beginning 
to  be  unbearable.  Mr.  Duveneck  did  not  ac- 
cept the  invitation,  but  his  pictures  worked 
powerfully  in  the  desired  direction,  and 
greatly  strengthened  the  hands  of  the  rising 
school.  In  Boston  the  presence  of  a  strong 
man  was  needed  to  temper,  not  to  destroy, 
the  rule  of  one  artist,  who,  immensely  more 
through   social  and  personal  influences,  — 


78        Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 


among  them  a  streaming  eloquence  of  dog- 
matic assertion,  headstrong  opinions,  and 
blustering  scorn  of  all  opposition,  —  im- 
mensely more  through  such  influences  than 
through  his  art,  had  imposed  his  theories  and 
his  practice  on  a  crowd  of  blind  adorers. 
Of  course  some  good  has  come  of  this  auto- 
cratic rule.  It  has  not  enlarged  people  ;  that 
can  only  be  done  by  teaching  them  to  think 
for  themselves.  It  has  not  made  them  love 
art  ;  that  can  only  be  done  by  showing  them 
art  in  its  various  manifestations ;  and  Boston 
people  have  been  crammed,  in  these  later 
years,  with  the  belief  that  there  is  no  art  but 
French  art,  and  that  Couture  and  Mr.  Wra. 
Hunt  are  its  prophets.  ...  No  man  in  Bos- 
ton, with  any  strength  of  his  own,  could, 
however,  long  endure  this  state  of  things. 
Those  who  could  escape,  fled  to  Europe  or 
New  York ;  those  who  could  not  escape  made 
the  best  of  it;  and  we  can  .imagine  their 
delight  when,  at  a  certain  exhibition  of  the 
Art  Club,  they  saw  their  deliverance  dawn 
in  Mr.  Duveneck's  pictures." 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  79 


This  article  Mr.  Hunt  regarded  as  a  mali- 
cious as  well  as  an  ignorant  representation  of 
his  position  in  Boston,  and  felt  that,  in  jus- 
tice to  his  pupils  and  friends,  and  to  the 
status  of  art  here,  some  correcting  statement 
should  be  made.  He  therefore  wrote  and 
sent  the  following  repty,  which  was  refused 
publication.  It  was  addressed  to  the  writer 
of  the  criticism.  UI  am  not  surprised," 
writes  Mr.  Hunt,  "at  your  disgust  at  the 
character  which  you  describe ;  but  when  one 
considers  that  it  is  your  own  manufacture, 
the  disgust  turns  naturally  towards  the  ma- 
chine which  incubates  such  a  production. 
You  present  the  picture  of  a  being  so  weak 
and  stupid  that  he  cannot  even  teach  people 
to  ;  think  for  themselves,'  and  one  who  has 
not  taught  any  one  to  love  art;  'for  that 
can  only  be  done  by  showing  them  art  in 
its  various  manifestations.'  This  weak  crea- 
ture at  the  same  time  holds  '  autocratic  rule  ' 
over  a  city  of  three  hundred  thousand  in- 
habitants for  years,  grinds  everybody  to 
pieces,  and   those  who   can  escape  fly  to 


80        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

Europe,  —  or  to  New  York!  To  cap  the  cli- 
max, a  deliverer  arrives,  who,  by  the  bye, 
had  been  invited  by  me  to  share  my  studio ; 
and  in  another  moment,  if  it  had  not  been 
checked  in  time,  this  4  one-man  power  '  would 
have  6  swamped  art  in  our  sister  city  in  mo- 
notony and  mannerism.' 

"  Now,  your  motive  in  all  this  is  to  create 
animosity  between  me  and  other  artists  ;  but 
you  will  be  unsuccessful.  The  sister  city, 
over  which  I  am  described  as  holding  such 
autocratic  rule,  has  always  been  the  first  to 
accept  most  cordially  fresh  examples  of  art. 
Boston  was  the  first  to  recognize  Millet, 
Corot,  Daubigny,  and  of  our  own  non-resi- 
dent artists,  Inness,  Lafarge,  Vedder,  Duve- 
neck,  and  others. 

"  You  tell  us  that  Boston  people  have 
been  crammed  with  French  art,  and  that 
Couture  and  William  Hunt  are  its  prophets. 
Now  it  may  surprise  the  reader  to  learn  that 
you  have  written  the  history  of  my  teach- 
ings and  creed  without  even  asking  me  an 
opinion,  or  being  present  at  any  lesson  of 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  81 

my  class ;  furthermore,  to  learn  that  I  have 
never  undertaken  to  teach  M.  Couture's 
method,  or  any  other  method,  and  have  en- 
deavored, as  all  my  scholars  will  say,  to 
develop  in  each  one  his  individual  manner. 
I  would  as  soon  think  of  teaching  a  method 
of  writing  poetry. 

"  The  words  '  French  art,'  which  you  put 
in  my  mouth,  I  do  not  remember  ever  to 
have  used  in  my  class ;  for  they  convey  no 
meaning  to  the  art  student  further  than  be- 
ing suggestive  of  a  class  of  skilfully  painted 
pictures  imported  into  New  York,  and  sold 
to  amateurs  and  dealers  all  over  the  country. 
The  term  is  used  here  generally  by  what  are 
called  '  dealers'  assistants,'  who  drum  up 
purchasers,  rope  in  friends,  and  pocket  com- 
missions. 

"Among  modern  painters  I  admire  Ho- 
garth, Gericault,  Constable,  Turner,  Dela- 
croix, Ingres,  Flandrin,  Corot,  Millet,  and 
others.  I  have  pointed  these  artists  out  to 
my  scholars  as  admirable ;  and  I  shall  not 
forget  that  Gericault,  one  of  the  greatest  of 


82        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt, 


modern  French  painters  (mind  3^ou,  not  a 
stickler  for  French  art),  went  over  to  Eng- 
land, and  wrote  to  Delacroix  to  come  over, 
saying  that  the  English  had  at  that  time  the 
best  painters. 

"  And  when  we  see  the  admiration  of  the 
French  for  Bonnington,  of  Troyon  for  Con- 
stable, artists  of  each  nation  studying  and 
admiring  the  works  of  the  other;  and  in 
visiting  the  studios  of  some  of  the  best  men 
in  England  to-day  find  on  their  Avails  sketch- 
es by  Daubigny,  Diaz,  Corot,  and  Millet,  it 
shows  that  those  who  have  succeeded  in  art 
have  always  loved  and  respected  one  anoth- 
er's work. 

"Please  to  remark  that  these  are  not  the 
names  whose  monograms  decorate  the  cor- 
ners of  pictures  generally  peddled  about  this 
country,  or  talked  of  as  belonging  to  6  French 
art,'  or  any  other  art.  They  are  the  names 
of  individuals,  and  as  different  from  one 
another  as  are  Shakespeare,  Goethe,  Moliere, 
and  Browning;  and,  moreover,  they  are 
names  that  would  never  have  survived  if 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  83 

contemporaneous  art  criticism  could  have 
killed  them. 

"  The  idea  that  fine  art  was  ever  confined 
to  a  school,  or  a  people,  is  too  idiotic  to  speak 
of.  To  accuse  me  of  upholding  such  a  sen- 
timent is  as  silly  in  you  as  it  would  be  for 
me  to  publish  that  you  believe  that  art  crit- 
icism can  only  be  written  with  a  quill  of  the 
great  bald-headed  American  eagle." 

Since  Mr.  Hunt's  death  the  same  critic 
again  writes :  "  Mr.  Hunt  was  essentially 
the  apostle  of  a  school,  and  cried  aloud  in 
the  desert  of  our  American  art  culture  the 
name  of  a  master.  He  worshipped  the  name 
of  the  late  Thomas  Couture,  and  he  taught 
hundreds  of  his  countrymen  to  worship  it." 
It  would  be  interesting  to  learn  how  this 
writer  obtained  his  singular  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Hunt's  opinions  and  teachings.  I  never 
heard  Mr.  Hunt  mention  the  name  of  Cou- 
ture but  once,  and  on  that  occasion  he  hu- 
morously alluded  to  the  circumstance  of 
some  young  American  artists  being  in  Cou- 
ture's  studio,  for  the  purpose  of  learning  his 


84        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


method.  "  Having  got  the  proper  method," 
said  Mr.  Hunt,  "they  can  come  right  home 
and  go  to  painting." 

As  an  example  of  Mr.  Hunt's  manner  of 
teaching  by  words,  the  following  outlines  of 
a  lecture  are  interesting.  It  is  a  very  simple 
lesson,  but  not  too  simple  to  be  of  interest. 

"  To  make  a  copy  of  an  object,  and  to  imi- 
tate, if  you  will,  as  closely  as  possible,  is  an 
elementary  process  in  learning  to  paint  or 
draw.  Therefore,  make  the  most  earnest 
endeavor,  as  you  do  when  you  first  try  to 
copy  the  letters  and  words  in  learning  to 
write.  But  in  order  to  say  anything  in  art, 
to  express  as  well  as  may  be  the  impression  or 
emotion  which  you  have  felt  when  you  have 
seen  something  that  has  impressed  you,  or 
when  your  imagination  has  made  a  combina- 
tion, and  you  desire  to  express  this  picture 
to  another,  —  in  order  to  do  this,  you  will 
find  not  only  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  say 
all  that  you  can  discover  in  the  objects  ne- 
cessary to  give  the  impression,  but  it  will  tax 
your  ingenuity  and  patience  to  the  utmost 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  85 


to  keep  the  different  objects  needed  to  make 
your  statement  or  picture  each  in  its  relative 
position  to  the  other,  and  to  the  point  you 
desire  to  make  in  your  argument  or  repre- 
sentation. 

"The  manner  of  using  all  objects  will 
necessarily  differ  in  every  new  subject  or 
statement ;  and  you  will  find  that  to  paint  a 
plate,  or  a  flower,  or  a  drapery,  is  a  very 
easy  matter  in  comparison  with  making  these 
objects  sing  the  desired  note  in  the  harmony 
of  a  composition. 

"  To  have  something  worth  saying  is  a 
good  deal;  to  be  able  to  say  it,  is  not  given 
to  every  one.  To  be  eloquent  is  rare ;  to 
have  the  power  to  move  and  convince  all 
hearers  requires  something  more  than  cour- 
age, conviction,  and  independence.  The 
possibility  of  this  power  is  inborn,  and  is 
developed  only  through  intense  love,  earnest- 
ness, desire  unlimited,  and  the  sacrifice  of 
everything  to  one  purpose. 

"  You  cannot  be  too  plain  or  too  direct. 
You  must  believe  and  you  must  affirm,  and 


86        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


let  your  qualifications  and  your  doubts  fol- 
low in  the  baggage  train  to  look  after  the 
wounded ;  and  when  in  your  descriptions 
you  speak  of  a  leaden  sky  or  a  golden  river, 
neither  be  surprised  nor  discouraged  when 
the  scientific  realist,  the  expert,  or  the  critic 
gravely  informs  you  that  even  by  the  test  of 
specific  gravity  your  statement  can  be  proved 
erroneous.  Remember  that  weights  and 
measures  are  as  much  his  business  as  per- 
ception and  feeling  are  yours. 

"  When  a  spectator,  after  looking  at  your 
work,  remarks  that  he  never  saw  this  or  that 
in  nature,  remember  that  this  may  be  true ; 
and,  moreover,  that  if  he  had  seen  it,  it 
might  have  said  nothing  to  him.  Listen 
rather  to  those  who  have  expressed  to  you 
clearly  something  wdiich  they  have  seen,  and 
which  enables  you  to  see  something  which 
you  never  before  thought  worth  noticing. 
You  may  be  sure  of  getting  more  satisfaction 
in  showing  what  you  have  observed  to  a  man 
like  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who  saw  the  apple 
fall,  than  you  would  from  all  the  apple  gath- 


Records  of  William  M.  Sunt.  87 


erers  from  the  time  of  Adam  down  to  the 
present. 

"Why  should  we  feel  hurt  by  the  com- 
plaints or  criticisms  of  those  whose  opinions 
on  art,  were  they  for  sale,  Ave  would  not  give 
a  cent  for?  On  general  rules,  should  not 
their  praise  be  discouraging?  Let  us  sup- 
pose, now,  that  we  have  become  capable  of 
drawing  and  painting  various  familiar  objects, 
—  of  rendering  the  idea  of  space  in  the  sky, 
and  the  distance  extending  between  objects  as 
they  recede  from  one  another ;  that  we  have 
learned  to  give  the  idea  of  substance  and 
weight  to  the  objects  which  we  have  endeav- 
ored to  copy,  —  let  us  suppose  that  Ave  have 
arrived  thus  far,  and  can  give  the  general 
characteristic  appearance  of  these  forms  and 
distances.  Now  it  remains  to  be  seen  hoAv 
Ave  are  to  use  this  poAver  in  the  formation  of 
pictures,  for  it  is,  thus  far,  but  the  poAver  of 
Avriting  and  spelling  and  learning  the  defini- 
tion of  the  Avords  of  a  language,  —  a  part,  in 
fact,  of  the  grammar  and  the  dictionary  ;  we 
have  still  to  say  something  which  will  inter- 


88       Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


est  mankind,  and  to  do  this  we  must  dare  to 
leave  the  province  of  literal  imitation  to  the 
parrot  and  the  monkey.  We  are  now  to  ex- 
press, with  the  little  we  have  learned,  the 
ideas  and  emotions  in  which  the  mind  and 
perceptions  and  heart  of  the  artist  abound." 

A  young  man  learning  to  paint  asked  Mr. 
Hunt  if  he  did  not  think  it  time  that  he  ex- 
hibited something.  "  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  was  the 
reply,  "it's  quite  time  you  began  to  exhibit 
your  pictures.  You'll  never  think  as  much 
of  them  as  you  do  now." 

Mr.  Hunt  himself  was  rarely  very  eager 
to  exhibit  his  own  productions  to  the  public. 
I  remember  that,  being  urged  to  send  pic- 
tures to  the  Centennial  Exhibition  at  Phila- 
delphia, he  said,  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
.  take  the  time  and  trouble  to  go  about  and 
collect  my  pictures,  and  send  them  off  at  my 
own  risk.  I  have  nothing  in  my  studio  that 
I  care  to  send.  If  those  who  own  pictures 
of  mine  would  send  them,  I  should  not  ob- 
ject to  it,  but  I  don't  care  enough  about  the 
matter  to  waste  time  over  it."    In  answer  to 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  89 

a  letter  begging  him  to  exhibit  some  of  his 
pictures  on  another  occasion,  in  New  York, 
he  wrote  : 

"My  dear  Me.  :  I  have  not  any 

picture  at  present  which  I  care  about  send- 
ing to  the  exhibition.  Exhibitions  are  gen- 
erally, I  find,  anything  but  encouraging  to 
production,  and  I  believe  the  healthy  habit 
of  production  will,  in  the  end,  do  more  for  a 
man  than  all  the  praise  or  blame  elicited 
from  the  public  or  the  press. 

u  I  wouldn't  paint  a  picture  for  an  exhibi- 
tion with  any  more  freedom  than  I  would 
talk  with  any  freedom  in  society  or  at  a  tea- 
party.  I  don't  feel  inclined  to  hang  myself 
up,  voluntarily,  either  as  a  lunatic  or  an 
idiot ;  one  of  which  places  being  always 
awarded  to  one  who  chooses  to  think  or  act 
for  himself.  I  have  peculiar  notions  about 
painting,  and  although  I  never  succeed  in 
doing  what  I  undertake,  yet  I  go  on,  if  I 
don't  exhibit.  I  always  feel  like  answering 
invitations   to   exhibit  like   invitations  to 


90        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


parties,  —  that  I  regret  that  a  previous  en- 
gagement will  prevent,  etc." 

This  little  anecdote  of  an  occurrence  at  one 
of  his  last  public  exhibitions  in  his  studio  in 
Park  Square  Mr.  Hunt  told  one  evening  with 
most  hearty  enjoyment.  The  exhibition  was 
a  large  one ;  there  were  a  good  many  oil- 
paintings  beside  a  great  number  of  charcoals, 
the  latter  reaching  to  the  ceiling  and  cover- 
ing one  side  of  the  great  studio.  A  stranger 
was  observed  to  look  the  things  over  ear- 
nestly, and  finally  to  make  a  broad  sweep  of 
the  eye  over  the  collection  as  a  whole.  Then 
turning  to  his  companion,  he  asked,  "  Is  the 
man  that  did  all  these  pictures  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  his  friend  ;  "  that's  the  artist, 
there,"  pointing  to  Mr.  Hunt. 

"What!  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  old 
feller  in  the  corner,  there,  did  all  these  pic- 
tures?" 

"  Yes,  that's  the  artist." 

"  Wal,"  said  the  stranger,  giving  Mr.  Hunt 
another  good  look,  "  he's  had  time  enough  to 
do  'em  in." 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  91 

Mr.  Hunt  was  at  this  time  about  fifty-four 
years  old,  but  looked  nearly  twenty  years 
older.  This  aged  appearance  was  due  chiefly 
to  his  long  gray  beard,  that  made  him  re- 
semble the  portraits  of  Leonardo  and  Cellini 
taken  when  they  were  quite  old  men. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  very  amusing  about  his 
growing  old  sight,  for  which  he  had  permit- 
ted me  to  prescribe  proper  eye-glasses,  that 
he  bought  at  Thaxter's.  One  evening,  pro- 
posing to  read  us  a  letter  that  he  had  re- 
ceived, he  took  from  his  pocket  an  unpleas- 
antly common-looking  pair  of  glasses,  and, 
anticipating  my  inquiry,  said,  "  These  eye- 
glasses I  bought  in  the  street  for  twenty-five 
cents.  They  seem  to  be  about  as  good  as 
those  you  prescribed.  The  fact  is  those  were 
a  little  too  good.  I  broke  the  spring,  and 
carried  them  to  be  mended.  They  were  to 
be  done  the  next  day,  which  was  a  week  ago, 
but  I  don't  think  I  shall  call  for  'em.  I 
might  break  'em  if  I  had  'em,  and  Thaxter 
will  take  good  care  of  'em."  He  then,  as 
usual  for  some  weeks  at  this  period,  hung 


92        Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 


the  eye-glasses  on  the  end  of  his  prominent 
nose,  wrong  side  up,  so  that  the  spring  lay 
over  his  mustache,  and  gravely  began  to 
read. 

He  carried  at  this  time  a  cheap  silver 
watch.  It  was  "hermetically  sealed,"  as  he 
called  it.  You  could,  if  you  wished,  put  it 
in  a  tub  of  water  over  night.  There  could 
never  be  any  necessity  for  opening  it,  as  it 
was  wound  and  its  hands  set  by  the  stem.  It 
made  a  noise  in  winding  like  a  watchman's 
rattle,  and  if  the  stem  were  turned  the  wrong 
way  it  made  just  as  much  noise,  and  did  the 
machinery  no  harm.  He  was  constantly 
taking  this  remarkable  watch  out  of  his 
pocket,  swinging  it  around  by  its  chain,  and 
winding  it  both  ways  as  noisily  as  possible, 
remarking  that  it  was  "  the  most  amusing 
watch  he  ever  had ;  very  companionable,  too  ; 
worth  more  than  its  cost  as  a  toy  to  play 
with." 

Mr.  Hunt  was  a  most  remarkable  mimic. 
He  mimicked  anybody  and  everybody  includ- 
ing even  himself.   On  one  occasion  he  showed 


Records  of  William  31.  Hunt. 


93 


us  how  he  mounted  the  platform  to  declaim 
his  piece  when  in  college.  Having  made  his 
bow  to  the  audience,  he  stood  before  it,  dumb, 
until  finally  requested  to  resume  his  seat  by 
the  teacher.  The  fellows  all  thought  it  one 
of  his  best  jokes,  got  up  for  their  amusement ; 
but  the  truth  was,  he  was  so  frightened  that 
he  could  not  recall  the  first  words  of  his 
piece. 

Mimicking  the  negro  manner  and  speech 
he  said,  "  If  er  white  man  ever  frow  me  out 
er  balloon  agin,  an'  Ihen  ketch  Mm,  I'll  make 
him  prove  it." 

One  of  this  race,  formerly  in  his  employ  and 
very  cunning  at  begging,  said,  "  Misser  Hunt, 
have  you  got  another  pair  er  shoes  exactly 
like  them  you  got  on  ?  'cause  if  you  have  I'd 
like  to  buy  em." 


94        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


IV. 

On  Mr.  Hunt's  return  from  Mexico,  in  the 
spring  of  1875,  we  expected  to  see  many 
sketches  and  paintings  as  souvenirs  of  his 
journey,  but  nothing  of  the  kind  was  brought 
home.  In  their  stead  we  found  his  studio 
resplendent  with  Mexican  trappings,  brica- 
brac,  shawls,  yellow  draperies,  a  large  collec- 
tion of  Mexican  opals,  and  a  pair  of  leather 
breeches.  All  these  he  showed  and  caressed 
with  childish  delight.  Mexico  was  one  of 
the  most  interesting  countries  in  the  world. 
There  was  nothing  like  it ;  he  was  going  back 
another  year  to  make  a  long  stay.  Presently 
he  put  on  his  leather  breeches,  and  strode 
about  the  studio  for  our  amusement. 

His  bringing  no  paintings  or  sketches  of 
consequence  home  with  him  was  due,  proba- 
bly, to  the  fact  that  the  journey  was  made 
for  rest  and  recreation  after  a  hard  winter's 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  95 


work  at  portrait  painting.  There  were,  to  be 
sure,  at  the  late  sale  several  charcoal  sketches 
purporting  to  be  Mexican  subjects,  but  it 
is  doubtful  if  they  were  correctly  named. 
The  brown  picture  that  has  been  already 
mentioned  as  having  been  painted  the  next 
day  after  the  artist  had  seen  a  Jules  Dupre 
was  catalogued  at  the  sale  as  a  view  at  West 
Newbury.  Years  ago,  when  first  exhibited, 
Mr.  Hunt  had  called  it  a  view  in  Weston. 
Artists  record  impressions,  and  the  public 
like  to  have  them  named.  Sometimes  such 
impressions  are  more  or  less  accurate  tran- 
scripts of  scenes  in  nature  from  a  chosen 
point,  but  a  landscape  painting  is  often 
merely  the  artist's  impression  of  an  effect, 
and  bears  no  resemblance  in  composition  to 
any  one  spot. 

Mr.  Hunt  had  a  strong  love  for  diamonds. 
During  the  years  that  we  knew  him  he  always 
wore  a  diamond  ring  on  the  little  finger  of 
his  left  hand.  The  stone  was  one  of  extraor- 
dinary brilliancy ;  and  he  told  us  that  when 
he  bought  it,  many  years  ago,  in  Paris,  he 


96        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


could  toss  it  into  a  collection  of  a  hundred 
fine  diamonds,  and  readily  pick  it  out  again. 
He  had  tried  in  vain  to  match  it  since.  One 
evening  later  he  appeared  with  a  second  dia- 
mond ring  on  the  little  finger  of  the  other 
hand.  It  was  fine,  but  not  so  fine  as  the  old 
one.  He  had  found  it  in  a  jeweller's  shop, 
and  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  own  it. 
Since  he  had  got  possession  of  this,  however, 
he  had  seen  one  in  New  York  that  he  be- 
lieved might  match  his  old  one.  He  had  dis- 
covered it  on  a  man's  finger,  and  it  was  not 
for  sale,  but  he  had  a  friend  in  New  York 
who  was  going  to  see  if  it  could  not  be 
bought  for  him. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  also,  as  I  have  remarked,  an 
excellent  man  of  business.  At  the  time  of  the 
greatest  depression  in  real  estate,  a  house  in 
Park  Square  was  offered  for  sale  by  auction. 
Mr.  Hunt  talked  over  the  purchase  of  this 
house  a  great  deal,  and  with  his  usual  ear- 
nestness. He  was  sure  it  would  increase  large- 
ly in  value  ;  it  was  an  entirely  safe  investment. 
He  would  like  to  occupy  a  part  of  it  imme- 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  97 

diately,  himself.  To  our  surprise,  lie  then 
named  the  exact  sum  that  he  proposed  to 
give  for  it,  adding  that  if  it  went  above  this 
sum  he  should  not  buy.  To  our  suggestion 
that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  it  rather  than 
go  a  few  hundred  dollars  higher,  if  necessa- 
ry, he  said,  "  I  will  not  go  one  dollar  higher. 
A  man  must  have  a  limit,  and  wherever  you 
put  the  limit  there  you  must  remain.  You 
might  as  well  not  have  a  limit  if  you  are  go- 
ing higher.  I  consider  it  a  good  purchase  at 
my  figures  :  it  may  be  a  good  bargain  at  a 
higher  price.  I  don't  know  about  that." 
This  astonishingly  cool  way  of  treating  the 
matter,  in  the  face  of  his  enthusiasm  over 
the  location  of  the  house,  its  desirability,  and 
the  probable  low  price  it  would  fetch,  was  a 
revelation  to  us ;  but  we  Avere  not  surprised 
afterwards  to  learn  that  the  house  was  sold 
at  a  few  hundred  dollars  above  the  sum  Mr. 
Hunt  proposed  to  pay.  He  got  some  one  to 
look  after  his  interest  at  the  sale,  lest  he 
might,  under  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  go 
beyond  his  limit.    On  the  Millets  which  he 


98        Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

sold,  a  few  years  since,  his  profits  were,  he 
told  ns,  in  the  neighborhood  of  one  hundred 
dollars  on  every  dollar  invested.  "  And,"  he 
remarked,  "the  Millets  were  sold  below 
rather  than  above  their  market  value."  He 
once  showed  us  an  unusually  fine  specimen 
of  Diaz  that  he  bought  twenty  years  before 
for  two  hundred  francs.  It  would  easily 
bring  fifty  times  that  amount  now. 

"Whenever,"  said  Mr.  Hunt  one  day,  "in 
repainting  a  picture,  there  is  a  particular  spot 
that  yon  wish  to  save,  paint  it  right  out,  or 
you  will  sacrifice  the  rest  of  the  picture  to 
it." 

I  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Hunt's  having  been 
invited  to  lecture  in  the  Sunday  afternoon 
course  at  Horticultural  Hall,  and  his  final 
decision  not  to  accept  the  honor.  He  had 
already  declined  to  deliver  some  lectures  at 
Yale  College,  and  afterwards  a  like  request 
from  Harvard  College  had  not  been  complied 
with.    As  to  the  latter,  he  said,  one  evening, 

"  Professor  came  round,  at  our  club,  and 

sat  down  by  me  and  began  to  make  himself 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  99 

agreeable.  I  didn't  mean  lie  should  get  the 
better  of  me  in  that  respect,  so  I  made  my- 
self agreeable,  too,  just  as  agreeable  fis  I 
could,  —  and  you  know,  when  I  try,  I  can 
make  myself  pretty  amusing;  and  I  don't 
think  he  got  much  the  start  of  me  in  that 
line.  Well,  presently,  after  we  had  both 
been  so  agreeable  that  nothing  further  could 
be  expected  in  that  way,  he  asked  me  to 
deliver  some  lectures  at  Harvard  College. 
I  didn't  promise  to  do  it,  but  I  said  I 
would  think  the  matter  over,  and  let  him 
know.  I  have  been  thinking  the  matter  over, 
and  have  pretty  much  concluded  to  ask  him 
to  permit  such  of  the  students  as  want  in- 
struction in  art  to  come  to  me  in  my  studio 
on  certain  evenings,  when  I  will  talk  to  them. 
I  shall  feel  at  home  in  my  studio,  and  have 
plenty  of  pictures  and  drawings  about  me 
with  which  to  illustrate  my  lectures.  You 
see,  I  have  my  doubts  Whether  they  really 
want  to  learn  anything  about  art  at  the  col- 
lege. Perhaps  they  only  want  me  to  come 
over  there  and  lecture.    If  that's  all  they 


100      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt 

want,  I  shaVt  go.  If  they  really  want  to 
learn,  —  if  anybody  really  wants  to  learn,  — 
I'm  ready  to  teach.  I  like  to  teach.  So  I 
think  I  will  just  invite  the  authorities  to  let 
the  students  hear  the  lectures  in  my  studio. 
If  they  are  in  earnest,  they  will  accept  my 
proposal ;  but  I  don't  expect  it  to  be  received 
very  cordially.    It  isn't  what  they  want." 

The  letter  below  is  a  draught  of  one  that 
was  sent  in  answer  to  the  invitation  from 
Yale  College.  The  matter  that  follows,  it 
was  proposed,  first,  to  embody  also  in  the 
letter,  but  this  was  not  done. 

Dear  Sir,  —  In  answer  to  your  invitation 
to  lecture  on  art  before  the  Yale  School  of 
Fine  Arts,  I  would  say  that  my  time  is 
already  more  than  taken  up  in  trying  to 
learn  how  to  paint,  and  as  I  can  get  no 
information  from  lectures  I  do  not  believe  I 
could  give  any.  The  world  is  full  of  people 
who  lecture  on i art,  and  I  will  not  interfere 
with  them. 

Yours  truly,       W.  M.  Hunt. 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt,  101 

"  Neither  poets  nor  artists  can  be  manu- 
factured ;  much  as  ever  they  can  be  supported 
when  they  do  exist. 

"  No  man  can  teach  me  to  produce  good 
work  in  art  except  a  producer  of  good  work, 
and  he  brings  his  work  with  him  as  a  thinker 
brings  brains  and  a  fighter  brings  fists. 

"A  talker  may  persuade  himself  that  he 
knows  everything.  A  doer  persuades  the 
world  he  knows  something. 

"  When  the  world  wants  wealth  and  works, 
it  will  demand  of  the  financier  and  the  critic 
some  tangible  proof  of  their  wisdom ;  but 
paper  and  talk  are  easier  handled,  and  will 
suffice  for  to-day. 

"It  is  well  to  listen  to  lectures  to  save 
one's  self  the  trouble  of  knowing  anything, 
but  if  one  wants  to  know  anything  of  art 
he  would  better  use  his  eyes ;  for  until  some 
of  the  talkers  have  produced  paintings  and 
sculpture  which  will  appeal  to  the  ears,  they 
can  teach  very  little  through  that  medium. 
I  have  known  a  deaf  painter,  but  not  a  blind 
one. 


102      Records  of  William  M.  Runt 


"  If  I  am  entitled  to  an  opinion,  it  is 
through  what  I  have  done. 

"  Works,  not  words,  can  instruct. 

"  The  only  lessons  that  painters,  or  poets, 
or  architects,  or  sculptors,  have  ever  taught, 
or  can  ever  teach,  are  in  their  works. 

"  When  an  artist  leaves  his  work  to  amuse 
people,  he  loses  not  only  his  time,  but  their 
respect. 

"  The  best  thing  about  most  lectures  on 
art  is  that  their  effect  is  not  lasting. 

"  Lectures  are  like  hash, — not  very  nour- 
ishing, but  will  do  when  one  is  so  young  he 
knows  no  better,  or  so  old  he  has  no  teeth. 
You  can't  expect  a  uniform." 

The  uniform  refers  to  a  story  of  Mr.  Hunt's. 
A  man  ordered  some  hash  at  a  restaurant. 
He  presently  found  a  soldier's  button  in  it; 
and  on  remonstrating  with  the  waiter  the 
latter  said,  "  What  do  you  want  ?  You  can't 
expect  a  whole  uniform  in  one  plate  of  hash, 
can  you  ?  " 

u  The  most  interesting  lecture  I  ever  hap- 
pened to  hear  was  on  language,  when  the 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  103 

speaker  dealt  with  the  material  he  was  de- 
scribing. 

"  A  man  who  wants  to  discover  anything 
would  better  stand  by  Christopher  Columbus 
on  deck  at  night  than  listen  to  his  lectures 
on  the  discovery  of  a  new  world. 

"  How  are  we  going  to  make  painters  by 
lectures  to  men?  We  are  going  to  make 
questioners  and  doubters  and  talkers.  By 
painting  and  showing  the  painting  of  others 
we  are  to  make  painters.  By  working  frankly 
from  our  convictions  we  are  going  to  make 
them  work  from  their  convictions. 

"  Most  of  us  have  been  so  taught  to  doubt 
and  question  that  we  haven't  time  enough 
left  in  our  life  to  express  an  opinion  of  our 
own.  It  is  by  having  something  to  say,  and 
not  trying  to  say  it  in  words,  that  one  learns 
to  paint. 

"  One  capable  artist,  with  his  assistants 
employed  as  formerly,  would  produce  more 
good  workers  than  all  the  schools  in  the 
country,  and  With  this  difference  :  that  works 
would  be  produced  instead  of  theories  and 


104      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


advice  and  teachers.  If  good  art  is  pro- 
duced, take  advantage  of  the  fact,  instead 
of  inveigling  hundreds  into  an  occupation 
where  not  one  in  a  thousand  can  make  a  liv- 
ing, unless  he  resort  to  talking,  toadying,  or 
speculation,  all  of  which  an  artist  can  famil- 
iarize himself  with  when  it  becomes  neces- 
sary, but  which  he  is  naturally  averse  to.  If 
people  are  to  be  instructed  or  assisted  by 
artists,  artists  must  be  employed  in  their 
legitimate  occupation ;  an  artist  cannot  live 
on  compliments  and  conversation. 

"  If  you  want  artists,  respect  art.  If  you 
want  art,  respect  artists. 

"  It  seems  to  me  high  time  that  something 
should  be  done  to  encourage  producers.  The 
country  is  being  overrun  with  art  teachers 
and  lecturers,  because  we  don't  want  doers, 
but  talkers.  When  we  really  want  art 
there  will  be  a  call  for  artists  to  paint,  and 
producers  will  be  respected,  employed,  and 
encouraged.  The  world  seems  to  want  ma- 
chines to  manufacture  artists,  poets,  states- 
men, and  philosophers ;  but  when  these  exist, 


Records  of  William,  M.  Hunt.  105 


neither  their  work  nor  their  opinion  is  wanted. 
One  is  invited  cordially  to  join  the  gang  and 
produce  what  he  is  not  to  produce,  —  works. 
If  he  is  a  musician,  he  is  invited  to  play  for 
the  world  to  march  in  to  supper. 

"  If  Michael  Angelo  and  Titian  were  liv- 
ing to-day,  they  would  not  be  called  upon  to 
paint.  They  would  be  lectured  to  by  the 
wise,  and  told  that  the  Greek  only  could  pro- 
duce art.  Were  they  even  to  lecture  from 
Maine  to  Georgia,  artists  would  not  neces- 
sarily rise  up  in  their  wake.  We  don't  want 
our  hens  to  lay ;  if  they  do,  we  throw  away 
their  eggs,  and  bring  all  the  hens  in  the  coun- 
try to  sit  on  gravel  stones,  hoping  to  hatch 
out  wonders.  We  are  all  taught  to  criticise 
and  find  fault  with  things  instead  of  being 
made  to  comprehend  and  appreciate  them. 
This  also  comes  from  talking  instead  of  do- 
ing. It  is  only  one  who  has  done  something 
who  can  see  in  an  embryo  the  possibility  of 
what  it  may  grow  to.  Those  who  are  taught 
from  the  past  see  only  the  past.  They  ig- 
nore the  existence  of  the  present." 


106      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

Of  modern  painters,  Mr.  Hunt  was  fond- 
est of  Millet;  next  to  him  he  mentioned 
oftenest,  I  think,  Eugene  Delacroix;  then 
Corot.  He  never  quoted  Couture.  He  liked 
Turner  and  Reynolds.  Of  the  picture  called 
the  Slave  Ship,  he  said,  "  I  like  it ;  it  has 
breadth.  A  small  man  couldn't  have  painted 
it."  Speaking  of  the  Rimmer  statue  of  Ham- 
ilton, one  evening,  he  said,  "  People  laugh  at 
it  a  good  deal ;  but  it's  not  to  be  laughed  at ; 
there  is  noble  feeling  in  it.  No  doubt  it  has 
faults  enough;  but  you  just  go  down  and 
stand  near  it,  directly  in  front,  so  that  you 
can  look  up  to  it,  and  you'll  find  it  impres- 
sive." 

Once,  in  talking  over  the  work  of  some  of 
his  lady  students,  I  remarked  that  a  certain 
painting  by  one  of  them  I  thought  very  cred- 
itable, on  the  whole,  but  that  it  lacked,  in 
comparison  with  his  work,  just  a  certain 
qualhVy  that  one  might  well  suppose  it  would 
have.  One  could  not  expect  great  excellence 
in  flesh  tint,  in  color,  and  in  composition,  but 
the  artist  being  a  woman,  and  dressing  well 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  107 


herself,  ought,  one  might  fancy,  to  excel  in 
graceful  and  stylish  arrangement  of  the 
dresses  of  her  figures,  and  paint  drapery 
fairly  well.  "  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  "  one 
might  think  so ;  but  the  trouble  is,  she 
doesn't  know  what  is  under  the  dress  that 
she  paints.  She  didn't  begin  drawing  from 
the  nude  figure,  and  doesn't  know  the 'anat- 
omy of  the  human  form  well  enough.  With- 
out this  knowledge  it  is  impossible  to  do 
draperies  well  and  to  give  what  you  call 
style.  Just  hold  up  your  arm  a  minute."  I 
held  up  my  arm  bent  at  a  right  angle,  as  for 
a  tailor  to  measure  for  the  length  of  a  coat 
sleeve.  "Now,"  continued  Mr.  Hunt,  "I 
will  tell  you  every  time  before  I  touch  your 
arm  with  my  finger  whether  it  is  the  flesh  or 
the  cloth  of  your  coat  that  I  shall  touch.  I 
know  exactly  where  the  arm  itself  is,  not- 
withstanding the  large  folds  in  the  sleeve." 
He  then  went  on  touching  the  arm,  saying 
every  time  before  the  touch,  "coat,"  "arm," 
"  arm,"  "  coat,"  correctly.  "  Well,  then,"  I 
said,  "  there  is  no  really  fine  drapery  painted 


108      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


in  this  country.  I  should  think  you  would 
never  see  any  that  would  entirely  satisfy 
you."  "  That's  true,"  he  replied ;  it's  very 
rare  to  find  drapery  satisfactorily  painted  un- 
til you  get  back  to  the  old  masters.  They 
know  how  to  do  it." 

Of  the  old  painters  he  quoted  most  fre- 
quently, perhaps,  Veronese;  then  Michael 
Angelo,  Titian,  and  Velasquez. 

Mr.  Hunt  felt  that  he  was  very  strong  in 
the  artistic  anatomy  of  the  human  figure. 
In  early  life  he  had  been  a  hard  student  In 
Germany,  and  was  a  very  correct  and  pains- 
taking draughtsman.  When  at  school  in 
Diisseldorf  he  was  noted  for  this  special 
talent.  Powell,  the  painter  of  the  great  pic- 
ture at  Washington  illustrating  the  discovery 
of  the  source  of  the  Mississippi,  who  visited 
Diisseldorf  while  Mr.  Hunt  was  a  student 
there,  says  that  he  displayed  remarkable 
talent  as  a  draughtsman.  His  studies  from 
the  nude  and  the  antique  were  so  perfect  in 
drawing,  and  so  impressed  his  teachers,  that 
he  was  declared  to  be  qualified  to  paint  long 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  109 


before  he  had  been  at  the  academy  his  full 
three  years.  Nothing  of  their  kind,  so  far  as 
fine  drawing  is  concerned,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  a  work  or  two  of  Page,  has  ever 
been  done  in  this  country  comparable  with 
the  Wardner  portrait,  the  figure  of  the 
painter's  mother,  or  the  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Adams.  Other  things  of  the  artist's  are 
finer  in  color;  but  Mr.  Hunt's  greatest 
achievements  lay  not  so  notably  in  the  direc- 
tion of  color  as  in  his  drawing,  modelling,  and 
in  his  noble  style.  He  was  especially  satisfied 
with  his  ability  to  paint  hands  correctly  and 
elegantly  when  he  chose.  Being  remon- 
strated with,  one  evening,  for  exhibiting  a 
figure  in  which  the  hands  were  in  a  half-fin- 
ished state,  he  retorted,  "  Well,  the  picture 
belongs  to  me.  I  don't  ask  anybody  to  buy 
it.  It's  my  picture,  and  I  suppose  I  can 
exhibit  it  if  I  choose.  You  say  the  hand 
looks  erysipelatous.  It  does.  It  looks  as 
though  it  had  a  very  bad  ulcer  on  it  ;  but 
nobody  is  obliged  to  look  at  it  unless  he 
chooses.    Most  people  know  by  this  time 


110      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

whether  I  can  paint  a  hand  or  not ;  whoever 
doubts  it  may  look  at  my  portraits  and  see." 

I  still  maintained  that,  by  virtue  of  his  high 
position  in  his  profession,  he  should  feel 
bound  to  exhibit  publicly  nothing  but  his 
best  work ;  that,  like  high  officials,  he  should 
move  with  circumspection  before  the  people. 
He  rejoined  pretty  hotly  that  he  thought  it  a 
rather  serious  matter  if  he  couldn't  do  as  he 
would  with  his  own  pictures.  He  got  quite 
excited  over  the  discussion,  but  in  a  few 
minutes  it  was  over,  and  his  next  evening 
with  us  followed  sooner  than  usual, —  a 
compliment  clearly  intended  to  show  us  that 
the  little  disagreement  had  left  nothing  un- 
pleasant behind  it. 

His  subordination  of  his  skill  in  drawing, 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  prominence  to  some 
other  artistic  quality  in  his  work,  at  times 
misled  certain  critics.  Thus,  of  his  smaller 
picture  called  The  Bathers,  when  he  brought 
us  the  photograph  in  the  autumn  of  1876,  he 
remarked,  "  I  don't  pretend  that  the  anatomy 
of  this  figure  is  precisely  correct.    In  fact,  I 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  Ill 

know  it  is  not.  It's  a  little  feminine  ;  but  I 
did  it  from  memory,  without  a  model,  and 
was  chiefly  occupied  with  the  pose.  I  do 
think  the  balancing  idea  is  well  expressed, 
and  it  is  the  fear  of  disturbing  that  which 
prevents  my  making  any  changes  in  the  con- 
tour of  the  figure.  L  know  that  I  could 
correct  the  anatomy,  but  if  the  pose  were 
once  lost  I  might  never  be  able  to  get  it 
again." 

While  impatient  of  what  he  called  incom- 
petent criticism,  like  most  artists,  he  courted 
the  sincere  criticisms  of  friends.  However 
adverse,  such  criticism  rarely  annoyed  him. 
I  remember  a  conversation  like  this  over  a 
small  gray  landscape  :  — 

"You  made  pretty  free  with  your  ivory 
black  in  this  picture,  didn't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  use  ivory  black  pretty  freely." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  sky  is  a  little 
noisy  too :  so  much  motion  there  would  be 
likely  to  ruffle  the  surface  of  the  water 
more." 

"  Yes,  that's  true !    I  could  fix  that  all 


112      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


right  in  a  few  minutes;  but  it's  something 
like  what  I  saw,  and  perhaps  somebody  may 
like  it  well  enough  to  buy  it  as  it  is." 

On  one  occasion  he  had  invited  us  to  his 
studio  to  see  a  full-length  figure  on  which  he 
was  working.  It  was  stylish,  fine  in  color, 
and  lifelike,  but,  at  the  first  glance  from  the 
studio  door,  there  appeared  to  be  something 
amiss  in  the  drawing  of  the  back  part  of  the 
head.  Expressing  his  desire  to  know  of  any- 
thing that  struck  us  unfavorably,  he  was  told 
of  the  apparent  defect,  and  said  at  once  that 
it  must  be  remedied.  He  then  asked  us  to 
go  again  to  the  entrance  of  the  studio,  and, 
covering  a  portion  of  the  head  of  the  figure 
with  his  hand,  showed  us  how  the  fault  could 
be  remedied ;  and  the  drawing  was  afterwards 
changed  according  to  this  indication. 

I  once  said  to  Mr.  Hunt,  "  I've  discovered 
the  secret  of  the  great  fascination  in  paint- 
ing. Perhaps  you'd  like  to  be  told  what  it 
is?" 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  "  If  you've 
got  the  secret  you  may  as  well  tell  it  to  me." 


liecords  of  William  31.  Hunt.  113 


"  Then  I'll  tell  you.  Painting  is  an  attrac- 
tive and  very  respectable  form  of  gambling. 
Everybody  likes  to  gamble.  When  you  put 
your  brush  to  canvas  you  can  never  foretell 
the  result.  The  effect  may  be  much  better 
than  you  expect;  oftener  it  will  be  much 
worse,  and  never  will  be  exactly  what  you 
anticipate.  There  is  no  certainty  about  it. 
What  do  you  think  of  my  discovery  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  after  a  moment's 
seriousness,  "I  used  to  think  that  the  old 
fellows  knew  exactly  the  effects  they  were 
going  to  produce,  but  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
they  did.    You  may  be  right." 

It  is  not  known  for  what  particular  occa- 
sion the  following  memoranda  were  made  :  — 

"  A  good  deal  of  our  so-called  cultivation 
is  like  sand-papering  the  surface  of  the  eye." 

uThe  only  real  cultivation  is  that  where 
the  instinct  is  preserved  in  all  its  clearness, 
notwithstanding  all  that  is  added  to  it." 

"  The  great  secret  is  to  add,  arjd  not  to 
swap." 

"  The  false  tooth,  the  glass  eye,  are  types 


114      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

of  the  highest  civilization  and  cultivation. 
Pedantry  fills  a  tooth  ;  affectation  and  a  glass 
eye  are  things  known  only  in  modern  civiliza- 
tion,—  in  states  of  modern  culture." 

"  Intelligence  is  water-power ;  wit  is  steam. 
Expand  a  drop  of  intelligence  by  the  fire  of 
enthusiasm  and  fervor  of  desire,  and  it  multi- 
plies its  force  by  thousands." 

"There  is  more  force  in  speed  than  in 
weight." 

While  Mr,  Hunt's  sensitive  organization 
gave  him  a  capacity  for  enjoyment  unknown 
to  differently  constituted  people,  it  gave  him 
also,  naturally,  what  might  be  termed  an  ab- 
normal susceptibility  for  suffering  from  a 
class  of  slight  or  temporary  annoyances,  that, 
with  most  people,  pass  unnoticed. 

His  spacious  studios  never  pleased  him 
long,  and  he  was  disposed  to  find  fault  with 
them  a  great  deal,  in  a  humorous  way.  Once 
the  noise  of  rats  so  disturbed  him  that  he 
felt  forced  to  seek  new  quarters.  Then  his 
numerous  stoves  gave  him  such  trouble  that 
he  could  not  work.    A  slight  leak  in  the 


•   Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  115 

roof,  on  another  occasion,  had  a  similiar 
effect.  Finally  he  built  the  large  studio  in 
Park  Square,  and,  having  moved  into  it,  we 
heard  no  more  of  these  troubles. 

Doubtless,  a  great  part  of  this  sensitiveness 
was  due  to  ill  health.  He  rarely  complained 
of  feeling  unwell,  and  spoke  of  his  health 
with  reluctance.  Appearing  tired,  one  even- 
ing, when  we  noticed  it  and  asked  him  how 
he  was,  he  said,  "  Oh,  I  don't  know;  if  I 
should  begin  with  my  bad  feelings,  I  should 
keep  it  up  all  the  evening.  What  is  it  that 
Emerson  says,  —  Beware  how  you  unmuzzle 
the  valetudinarian  ?  ". 

One  evening  he  said,  "  After  all,  I  don't 
know  but  the  barbarous  tribes  that  kill  off 
their  old  men  are  pretty  wise.  You  know 
they  put  an  old  man  in  a  tree,  and  then  shake 
it.  If  he's  strong  enough  to  hold  his  place 
in  the  tree,  they  allow  him  to  live  another 
yeat ;  but  if  he  falls  to  the  ground,  they  kill 
him  with  clubs." 

Probably  his  tenderness  towards  those  who 
were  ill,  or  not  strong,  and  his  sympathy  for 
them,  were  quickened  by  his  own  sufferings. 


116      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 

One  of  our  household  had  sent  him  some 
home-made  chocolate  drops,  upon  the  receipt 
of  which  he  forwarded  them,  with  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  to  a  friend  and  pupil  who  was 
ill:  — 

My  dear  Miss  :  I  bring  you  some  of 

Millet's  drawings,  by  way  of  making  you 
patient  to  stay  indoors  this  blustering  weath- 
er. I  also  add  a  little  box  which  I  found  on 
my  return  to  the  studio. 

The  note  is  so  pretty  that  I  send  it  too, 

for  I  feel  that  had  Mrs.  known  you  were 

ill  she  would  have  sent  you  the  sugar-plums 
and  the  note.  At  any  rate,  to  have  received 
them  is  so  grateful  that  I  pass  them  along, 
as  in  the  game  of  button,  button. 

Yours  truly,  W.  M.  Hunt. 

In  a  letter  from  Weathersfield,  Vermont, 
postmarked  June  30,  1879,  to  his  assistant, 
Mr.  Carter,  who  had  just  left  him,  at  the  time 
when  Mr.  Hunt  was  supposed  to  be  slowly 
regaining  his  health  and  strength,  he  says,  — 


Records  of  William  31.  Hunt.  117 


"  I  imagined  you  arriving  in  Boston  a  lit- 
tle while  after  our  tea,  and  yesterday  at 
about  the  same  hour  safely  at  home  in  West- 
boro'.  What  a  relief  it  must  have  been  to 
you,  and  what  a  reward  for  your  unbound- 
ed patience,  and  what  a  let  up !  Well,  I 
mustn't  be  sentimental,  but  I  will  express 
my  gratitude.  Since  you  left  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  take  your  place  in  taking  care  of 
me.  ...  I  really  do  not  want  you  to  hurry 
back  on  my  account.  Do  try  to  have  a  good 
time,  so  you  may  not  lose  your  faith  in  the 
whole  human  race." 

A  few  clays  earlier  he  had  written  to  Mrs. 
Carter :  "  It  must  be  dreadfully  aggravating 
for  you  to  have  your  husband  penned  up 
here  so  long ;  but  I  can  tell  you  one  thing  : 
when  he  does  get  back  (if  that  ever  hap- 
pens), what  there  is  left  of  him  will  have 
gone  through  a  fiery .  furnace  of  patierice, 
and  I  will  guarantee  that  the  temper  of  the 
old  Damascus  blades  was  nothing  in  com- 
parison. 

"  I  really  pity  him  and  you  too,  but  I  am 


118      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


so  selfish  that  I  pity  myself  the  most ;  and 
though  I  would  like  to  be  generous  and  give 
him  up  a  little,  I  find  myself  selfishly  cling- 
ing to  him." 

On  the  outside  of  an  envelope  he  wrote, 
in  addition  to  the  superscription,  "  Be  care- 
ful of  this  :  beyond  value."  Within  was  the 
following  note :  — 

My  dear  Mrs.   I  received  this 

morning,  through  the  hands  of  our  mutual 
John,  a  beautiful  velvet  wig.  It  fits  per- 
fectly, and  sticks  closer  to  my  head  than  my 
hair  has. 

The  following  lines,  written  from  the  Isles 
of-  Shoals  on  August  23d,  only  about  two 
weeks  before  his  death,  is  one  of  the  very 
instances  when  he  alludes  to  his  health :  — 

Saturday,  p.  m. 

My  dear  Boy,  —  I  feel  a  little  better ;  if 
I  can  only  get  some  more  sleep  I  shall  do 
well.    Yours,  W.  M.  Hunt. 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  119 

Notwithstanding  his  weakness  and  lack  of 
sleep,  his  generous  impulse  towards  a  broth- 
er artist  led  him  to  write  as  follows  on  Aug- 
ust 16th :  — 

My  deak  :  I  should  like  to  be  in 

Boston  and  look  over  Tom  Robinson's  pic- 
tures with  you,  and  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  something  fine.  I  am  sure  Tom  de- 
serves the  greatest  credit  for  his  pluck,  perse- 
verance, and  capacity,  and  I  am  heartily 
grateful  that  he  has  been  so  successful. 

He  is  a  real  man,  and  it  does  not  surprise 
me  to  know  that  he  has  painted  his  real  self. 
I  am  glad  you  wrote  me  about  his  pictures, 
as  I  was  desirous  to  know  about  them.  .  ,  . 
When  you  see  him  just  shake  him  by  the 
hand  for  me. 

The  above  was  an  unusually  long  letter 
for  him  at  this  time.  Generally  his  letters 
were  very  short,  but  full  of  characteristic 
humor,  with  never  a  hint  at  illness  or  de- 
spondency. 


120      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


"Shoals." 

Dear  C  :  Weight  yesterday  afternoon, 

east  wind,  cool,  thick  woollen  clothes  and 
coat,  and  thick  boots,  after  tea,   .       .  145 

This  morning,  rather  warm  and  some 
changes  of  clothing,    ....  141 

Three  days  ago,  thin  suit  and  warm 
wefither,  137 

Weather  and  weight  variable.  If  it 
grows  as  hot  here  as  in  Danielsonville 

I  should  weigh,  000 

Yours  truly,       W.  M.  Hunt. 

The  great  achievement  of  Mr.  Hunt  at 
Albany  involved  more  labor  than  is  gen- 
erally supposed.  There  had  been,  during 
the  summer  preceding,  a  preparatory  work 
in  the  studio  at  Boston  of  nearly  five 
months.  Mr.  Hunt  had  returned  from  Ni- 
agara about  the  first  of  July,  after  accepting 
the  commission  for  these  paintings,  and  had 
set  about  the  task  at  once.  It  was  necessary 
that  the  separate  figures  and  parts  of  figures 
should  be  studied,  drawn,  painted,  and  com- 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  121 


bined  to  fit  the  great  arched  spaces  where 
they  were  to  go. 

For  The  Flight  of  Night  the  heads  of 
the  horses,  their  legs  and  feet,  were  all 
freshly  painted  from  life,  although  years 
before  he  had  carefully  modelled  the  horses 
in  clay.  Anahita,.  the  Goddess,  was  again 
painted  from  life.  Sleep  and  the  Child,  and 
the  Dusky  Guide,  were  also  painted  from 
life.  For  the  other  picture,  the  Discoverer, 
Science,  Hope,  and  Fortune,  were  painted 
from  life  models.  Parts  of  these  figures 
were  also  drawn  and  colored  as  separate 
studies  ;  as,  for  instance,  the  heads,  hands, 
and  arms. 

Of  the  two  compositions  entire  and  of 
their  separate  parts,  there  were  made  at 
this  time  upwards  of  thirty  careful  charcoal 
drawings,  and  in  pastel  more  than  twelve. 
Seventeen  oil-paintings,  twelve  inches  by 
thirty,  of  the  compositions  complete,  were 
also  done.  These  were  made  chiefly  to  test 
the  effects  of  proposed  combinations  or  con- 
trasts of  color.    In  addition,  there  were  two 


122      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


large  paintings,  one  of  each  subject,  about 
six  by  eight  feet,  and  two  large  pictures  in 
oil,  of  Fortune,  of  about  the  same  size. 

Blocks  of  stone  like  that  in  the  walls  of 
the  Assembly  Chamber  at  Albany  were  sent 
him,  that  the  effect  of  pigment  upon  them 
might  be  tested. 

Meantime,  in  a  room  under  the  studio, 
paints  were  being  ground  and  tints  mixed 
and  hermetically  sealed  in  five-pint  tin  cans, 
to  be  in  readiness  for  transportation  to  the 
scene  of  his  great  work.  Why  all  this  grind- 
ing and  mixings  was  done  in  secret  no  one 
knows;  but  Mr.  Hunt  never  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  this  room  until  the  grinder,  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  destination  of  his  prod- 
ucts, had  gone  home  for  the  day;  then  he 
went  down  and  inspected  the  results  with 
the  greatest  interest. 

After  all  this  painstaking  preparation,  it 
was  found,  on  arriving  before  the  great  walls 
at  Albany,  that  the  space  within  the  arch 
upon  which  the  Flight  of  Night  was  to  be 
put  was  not  sufficiently  high  for  the  compo- 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  123 

sition  as  it  had  been  proportioned.  It  was 
necessary  to  lower  the  figure  of  the  goddess, 
and  to  change  the  relative  positions  of  the 
horses,  so  that  they  should  be  brought  more 
together  towards  the  centre  of  the  panel. 
Some  important  changes  were  also  made  in 
the  grouping  of  the  figures  in  the  Discover- 
er. The  composition  of  this  picture  appears 
always  to  have  been  more  tractable  than 
that  of  the  Flight  of  Night.  There  had 
been  fewer  and  less  radical  changes  made 
in  it  since  it  was  first  drawn.  It  has  been 
generally  supposed  that  this  composition  was 
purposely  designed  for  the  arch  it  now  occu- 
pies ;  but  this  is  not  the  case.  There  is  still 
extant  a  charcoal  of  it  drawn  in  the  year 
1857. 

The  Flight  of  Night  had  been  first  put  on 
paper  in  1847,  ten  years  earlier.  It  had 
undergone  many  changes  before  these  last  at 
Albany,  and  long  before  it  was  ever  supposed 
it  would  be  anything  more  than  an  easel 
picture.  The  goddess  was  first  drawn  shield- 
ing her  eyes  from  the  coming  light  with 


124 


Records  of  Wiltiam  M.  Hunt. 


her  raised  arm.  She  was  looking  forward, 
was  differently  seated,  and  her  chariot  was 
winged. 

The  work  at  Albany  being  necessarily  hur- 
ried was  especially  anxious  and  exhausting. 
The  legislature  was  to  meet  at  an  appointed 
time,  and  the  staging  must  come  down  on  a 
certain  day,  whether  the  paintings  were  fin- 
ished or  not.  It  could  not  be  known  before- 
hand that  just  fifty-five  days'  labor  would  end 
the  task.  But  it  was  known  that  the  final 
and  telling  touches  must  be  made  by  Christ- 
mas, and  rectified,  if  necessary,  on  that  day ; 
after  this,  no  additions  or  subtractions  were 
possible.  Whether  the  two  large  composi- 
tions could  be  satisfactorily  put  upon  the 
walls  within  the  prescribed  time  seemed  a 
question ;  and  it  became  still  more  a  ques- 
tion when,  after  painting  the  first  day,  they 
found,  on  climbing  up  to  their  places  the 
next  morning,  that  their  day's  work  had 
pretty  nearly  vanished  into  the  texture  of 
the  stone.  The  faith  and  courage  of  Mr. 
Hunt's  accomplished  assistant  were  now  in- 


Records  of  William  M.  Hunt.  125 

valuable ;  and  later,  during  the  progress  of 
the  work,  his  solemn  promise  that,  if  their 
effort  proved  a  failure,  he  would  himself 
paint  out  both  pictures  in  a  single  night  was 
greatly  comforting  to  Mr.  Hunt. 

During  these  fifty-five  fatiguing  days  the 
artist  and  his  assistant  were  always  up  in 
the  morning  to  catch  the  rising  sun,  so  as  to 
carry  a  fresh  impression  to  the  work  upon 
the  Flight  of  Night.  Every  evening  they 
watched  the  waning  daylight,  and  noted  the 
effects  of  figures  and  objects  against  the  set- 
ting sun  as  a  study  for  the  Discoverer. 

Thus  the  fifty-five  busy  days  passed  rap- 
idly by,  and  came  to  an  end.  The  great 
work  was  accomplished.  But,  apart  from 
the  anxiety  inseparable  from  an  experiment 
of  such  magnitude,  the  physical  strain  of 
working  on  such  spaces  upon  step-ladder 
and  scaffolding  told  fearfully  upon  the 
artist. 

During  the  intense  excitement  of  the 
work,  as  it  progressed,  he  was,  indeed, 
unusually  strong  and  buoyant  in   spirits ; 


12G      Records  of  William  M.  Hunt. 


and  even  after  the  return  to  Boston,  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  under  the  lasting  stimulus 
which  his  happily-finished  task  had  given 
him,  he  was  still  light-hearted  and  cheerful; 
but  the  inevitable  re-action  came  at  last,  and 
the  nervous  exhaustion  had  been  so  severe 
and  prolonged  that  no  recovery  from  it  was 
possible. 


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